Learning To Fall
by picklebuddy7
Summary: Draco and Hermione have both experienced a loss that leaves them in shambles. Their paths collide as they struggle to collect the pieces of their lives and protect everything they love from a new enemy waiting to strike. But is this enemy really a new foe, or is it just their pasts returning to haunt them? /Post-War/Slow romance/Cursing and potential mature content later on.
1. Introduction

**Prologue: **

**The Puzzle That Wasn't Meant To Be Solved**

**Author's Note:** This IS a Dramione fanfiction! Don't fret because Draco hasn't appeared yet~ 3 This introduction is also EXTREMELY SHORT. I intend for each chapter to be _much_ longer than this due to more depth and time lapse, among other things. So don't throw me to the curb just yet because of a lack of length to chapters, please~

I had originally meant to write a one-shot for this, but then the idea morphed into something so wonderful and detailed that I decided… It HAD to be an entire story! 3 Everything will be revealed as the chapters progress, but if you're DYING to know how it all goes down… Shoot me a PM and I'll try not to spoil too much~ 3 Hope you enjoy! I'll try to us fast as possible, so please be patient! It may take one week to publish each chapter~ :)

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><p>All it took was a whisper. One whisper and her world tumbled into chaos.<p>

"I want a divorce."

It was as though a force field prevented the phrase from registering in the woman's mind. She stared blankly at her husband's scuffed shoes as the words rattled inside her head, as though they couldn't find the proper place to lodge and be processed.

"Did you hear me? I said that I—"

"I heard you," the woman softly replied, almost too quiet for him to hear. Her husband's next words were lost to her from the ringing in her ears. This wasn't right. This wasn't how her life was planned. A divorce was _not_ in the stars for Hermione Granger, but apparently Hermione Weasley had a different path to follow.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Forcing her gaze to shift from the man's shoes to his face, she saw his face flush from agitation. "I'm sorry, Ronald, but I've had an excruciating day at the Ministry—"

"_As excruciating day at the Ministry_," her husband mocked, his voice higher pitched than normal. "As if you even know what excruciating means anymore! You haven't used a single offensive spell since the war, and you think you know what _excruciating_ is like?" His eyes flashed dangerously as he took quick steps towards his wife, his voice trembling as he continued. "I'm the one who is still chasing dark wizards, Hermione! I'm the one at risk of dying every time I step out of this bloody house! _I _know what excruciating really is; all you do is sit behind a desk and whip your wand around to flutter papers through the air for filing!"

Hermione said nothing, only observed. Over the years, the Ronald Weasley that she knew as a child had been chipped away until _this_ remained – this morose creature that couldn't hold a candle to the Ron of the past. _Where did things go wrong? Where did_ we _go wrong? _Hermione's shoulders sagged as her husband kept spewing insults and accusations towards her, but she had heard them all before. The whispers to secret lovers when he thought she was asleep, the grumbles of discontent beneath his breath, the words implied between the lines. It all fit together perfectly in the puzzle Hermione had been unknowingly solving; it was in her nature to collect data and catalogue it for future use, but she had never imagined finding a story whose ending she didn't want to know. The final piece to the puzzle was the prized piece; the sought-after component that brought the adventure to its glorified end.

Hermione wasn't ready for her story to end.

Her soft, pink lips parted to speak, but Ron was gone. There was a faint imprint in the carpet from where he had been standing, but nothing else other than that and the ache in her heart revealed that he had ever been in the room. Hermione wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there as he ripped apart the foundations of their relationship, but her muscles were stiff and her fingers seemed melded together from the vice grip she was holding.

Resting in her lap was Ron's wedding band, the metal seeming to scorch her thighs through her slacks. Hermione recoiled immediately, the object falling with a soft _thud_ to the carpeted floor. It bounced towards the fireplace, and Hermione's gaze followed its every movement. It hadn't moved more than a few feet, but it still seemed to burn her skin like a white-hot branding iron. The woman shivered and tore her gaze away, her almost eyes brimming with unshed tears. _No_, she commanded herself, fighting against her quivering lip. _You will not cry for him._

Despite telling herself this, the tears came in full force, like a hurricane in the Bahamas. Guttural sobs claimed her body as she slid from her arm chair onto the floor, and she wrapped her arms around herself as though she could hide from the onslaught of emotion. It was too much to handle. Hermione had adjusted to life after the war – a life without heart-wrenching sorrows and nightmares at all times of the day. She hadn't planned on the person she trusted the most to leave. She hadn't planned on her story ending so soon.


	2. Ch 1: Inertia

**Inertia**

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><p>Weeks had passed since Ron's abrupt departure. Hermione had picked herself up from the floor and numbly wandered to their bedroom to find it devoid of his belongings. Clothes usually thrown about the room were missing, along with his special pillow by the headboard. Inhaling slowly, Hermione almost believed that she couldn't even <em>smell<em> the man, but alas, his scent lingered. _Oranges and soil._ She shuffled over to the bed and sank into its warmth, wrapping the overly-fluffy comforter around her shoulders. It had been a gift from Ginny last Christmas since their old comforter had fallen victim to Crookshanks' claws one too many times. _And now Ron has joined Crookshanks in another life._

Hermione couldn't help feeling morbid, but she knew that Ron hadn't passed away as Crookshanks had. A part of her wished it were true so she could deny the past few hours of her life and pretend that Ron was merely away on business, but that wasn't the case. Ron's job as an Auror had him leave on business on occasion, but he never went to the extreme of taking his _pillow_ with him. That simple fact alone was how she knew that Ron was _really_ gone. This time he wasn't coming back smelling of the neighbor's perfume or with a badly-bandaged wound from a curse that had nearly killed him. No, this time Ronald had taken off for good, and even though Hermione's eyes were swollen from her previous tears, somehow a few more droplets managed to sneak past.

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><p>The shelves of Flourish and Blotts always looked polished as though they were built yesterday, despite decades of witches and wizards roughly handing their books and forgetting the structure that supported their intended object. The solidity of the shelves was a comfort to Hermione, as they withstood even the hardships of the war, unlike a large portion of Diagon Alley. <em>Not everything is built to last,<em> she mused, the corners of her lips turning downwards at yet another reminder of her broken relationship with Ron. With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the stacks and stacks of books and was headed to the door when the shopkeeper called out to her.

"Hermione, dear! Could you help me for a moment?"

The woman froze as her name was called across the crowded shop. People ranging from toddlers to the elderly were crammed into the bookstore, all working on expanding their book collection during the annual sale before the school term started. Surely, someone she knew was going to enter and cast upon her the looks of pity she had grown so accustomed to the past few weeks. It was enough to make Hermione shudder, but the shopkeeper hardly noticed from across the room.

"Come along, dear! I'll pay you for your efforts, you know!"

Hermione's legs were like led as she dragged herself to the back room where the shop owner was scribbling notes down. "I really should be going, Brenda; I have to finish packing, and—"

"Nonsense!" the woman crooned, magically hovering her pen and paper in the air as she moved to her desk to retrieve something. "This should only take a moment or two! I can put the money you earn on your store credit!"

A bubble of guilt formed in Hermione's chest. She was always against Brenda putting money on her store credit, but the glint in the woman's eyes was both determined and unwavering. It was more than a little unsettling.

Brenda scurried over to Hermione with a large stack of books in her arms, seeming overpowered by the weight of them. Why she hadn't levitated them was beyond Hermione, but she humored the tiny woman as best she could.

"Now," Brenda huffed, forcing the books into Hermione's outstretched arms. "I'll need you to put these on the shelves; we've had a lot of customers for first year spell books, so we're having to pull them from the back every so often." Smiling, Brenda ran a hand through her pixie cut and motioned for Hermione to exit the room. "C'mon, now! I know that you know where they go! This is practically your second home," she added with an encouraging wink.

Color rose to Hermione's cheeks, but Brenda guided her out the door by the small of her back. The door slammed closed behind her, and Hermione stared at the throng of people, unwilling to brush against any of them. Human contact was something she tried to avoid these days.

Pursing her lips, she looked for a table to place the books on so that she could leave the store in a sprint, but every flat surface in the shop had the latest edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ on display. _I'll have to remember to pick that up sometime_, Hermione briefly mused before someone bumped into her side. The top five books of her stack flew to the floor like magnets to a refrigerator. The perpetrator of the incident hadn't bothered apologizing to Hermione, let alone acknowledge her presence.

With a sharp look at the young man to her left, Hermione struggled to pull out her wand, more books loudly falling to the floor in the process. Soon enough, however, Hermione had the entire stack hovering the in the air behind her as she barreled through the crowd, muttering her apologies as she went.

She had almost finished stacking the books into the shelves (they hadn't been in alphabetical order from the chaos of people cramming incorrect books and shoving them back onto the shelf) when a voice caught her attention.

"Could you hand me one of those 'Standard Book of Spells,' Miss?"

Curiosity prickled under Hermione's skin as she took a copy of the book and held it to her chest. The voice was one she could never forget. "And what do you need with this book, may I ask?"

The man's tone turned reproachful as he replied, "That's hardly any of _your_ business, is it?"

Whipping around, Hermione glowered at the tall blonde. "Of course it is my business! You're a defiler of texts! Why should I give you a perfectly clean, crisp book when you're just going to destroy it?!"

Scowling, Draco Malfoy reached across Hermione's shoulder and pulled the book from its shelf, adding it to the small stack at his hip. "I'm not the one destroying things these days, Granger."

Hermione stared at his long, delicate fingers as they curled around the books at his hip possessively. _As if he has any right to books after what he did with them in school! _She clearly remembered him ripping out pages for some idiotic note for Pansy Parkinson, the action always setting the Gryfindor's teeth on edge. With a low, unladylike growl, she sidestepped away from Draco (they had been in close proximity due to the mass of people in the store) and marched out of the store, faintly smelling peppermint as she passed the man. _I need a drink._

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><p>The coming hours were spent in the Leaky Cauldron as Hermione sipped her beverage in silence. The liquid burned her throat, but it was a welcome feeling as of late. She was glowering in her corner of the room, watching friends laugh and couples snog in the low light. Her thoughts slowly drifted from the pile of paperwork she needed to finish at the office to a certain redhead working at the Auror department until a memory from earlier that day surfaced.<p>

"_I'm not the one destroying things, Granger." _

_What does _he_ know about anything?_ Hermione mentally spat, her anger igniting and continuously burning on her previous despair. She drummed her fingertips against the coarse tabletop, chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought. _Does the entire wizarding world know of my… separation?_ Blinking, her eyes scanned the room to see if anyone was watching her. At the bar, a seedy-looking gentleman in desperate need of a shave offered a crooked smile, but Hermione turned her nose up and took to staring at one of the floating candles illuminating the room.

"A fierce glare like that will surely cause the candle to explode."

Nearly jumping out of her skin, Hermione jerked her head away from the burning wick to the man sliding into the chair across from her. He made himself comfortable, clasping his fingers together and placing them on the table. If looks could kill, Draco Malfoy would have been six feet under by now.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "If you're going to maim someone, let it be the barbarian undressing you with his eyes."

Hermione raised a delicate eyebrow and glanced at the man from the bar. He winked when he caught Hermione's eye, causing the woman to shiver uncomfortably. "Unfortunately, I'm not equipped to handle myself in that regard," she said bitterly, paraphrasing something Ron had once told her.

Pursing his lips, Draco leaned across the table closer to Hermione. "If I had wanted shoddy company, I would have sat alone." His grey eyes seemed to smolder, causing Hermione to shiver again.

"I was perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much. I didn't ask for you to accompany me," she replied, leaning across the table as well. _Did he just call himself shoddy company?_

Draco broke their gaze as he returned to a more proper sitting position. "Are you sure about that, _Hermione_?" he asked, stretching his legs out beside the table. "I know a lonely soul when I see one, and you are..." Pausing, he gave the woman a once-over. "Miserable." He waved his hand for someone to take his order, and as soon as the waitress had returned with his usual drink, he leveled Hermione with a sobering stare. "You may not particularly enjoy my company, but I'm a fair dozen marks better than 'Mr. X-Ray Vision' over there."

Hermione felt nailed to the spot. She couldn't fathom why Draco Malfoy of all people would _willingly_ sit with her as she drank her sorrows away. Maybe he enjoyed watching her in a disarray? At the office, the pair worked in the same department – The Department of Magical Law Enforcement – and Draco had never seen her so out of sorts, she surmised. "Why?" she whispered, picking at a chip in the surface of the table. "Why bother? Why not let 'Mr. Sleaze' over there strut over here and take me home?" Hermione could_ feel_ Draco's heavy sigh moreso than hear it.

"Your depressing aura is insufferable at work."

_My depressing aura is insufferable at work?_ The idea of Draco's concern for anyone other than himself seemed so far-fetched now that Hermione couldn't stop from laughing rather loudly. A few people threw her irritated looks, but she quieted down after a moment. "Look at the mighty Draco! Affected by something so common as a woman's broken heart!" Her eyes danced with humor. "But this begs the question, how is it you know of my misfortune? I haven't heard of Rita Skeeter catching wind of the dastardly tale of the Weasley divorce just yet." She was saying more than she normally would have due to the alcohol, but for some reason she didn't care as much as she would have any other day of the year. _You've always been such a lightweight, Hermione._

Draco's expression softened and his stony eyes briefly flickered around the room. "You may want to simmer down. I'm sure the _Prophet_ would love a front cover edition with the two of us seated together in the midst of your divorce." His eyebrow twitched as he noticed that Hermione was ordering her fourth drink instead of listening. "Maybe you'd better go home, Hermione."

Smiling warmly at Draco, Hermione almost purred. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, _Draco_."

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><p>The pair has continued conversation for about an hour before leaving the pub. Somehow Hermione had convinced Draco that she needed assistance going home; she wasn't fit to apparate, and she refused to tell him her address for apparition or the floo network. The pair was left walking the streets of Muggle London, and by the time they reached Hermione's rental home, it was one o'clock in the morning. Draco opened her door and practically dragged her inside, turning on the lights with a flick of his wand. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked sternly, forcing Hermione to stand upright. The woman's face flushed at his apparent forwardness, but Draco cut her off.<p>

"Not for _that_," he groaned, running a hand down his face. "You need to get into bed before you pass out."

Hermione pouted like a schoolgirl. "I won't pass out. I'm fine right where I am." As if to emphasize how sober she was, she removed Draco's arm around her waist and took a few wobbly steps. "See? I'm perfectly capable on my own."

Draco easily caught up to her and held her steady. "Somehow, I doubt that." Gently leading her towards the off-white couch in the sitting room, Draco forced the woman to sit. "I'll get you a glass of water for the morning—" Without warning, Hermione tugged on the sleeve of Draco's button up shirt, forcing the man to hold himself up with the backrest of the furniture or else topple onto the woman. Apparently he wasn't as steady as he had thought. Frowning, he removed Hermione's hand – so much smaller than his own, he noticed – when she sat up straighter and leaned closer to his face. Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she lightly touched his cheek with her palm, the warmth from the connection inviting him closer. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet it was over in an instant. Hermione grasped the back of Draco's neck with her free hand, the alcohol on her breath mingling with his own as she paused a mere centimeter from his lips. Her eyes focused on his own, a bit of mischief swirling in their depths.

He knew it was wrong. He knew that it was the alcohol talking and not anything else.

But that wasn't enough to stop him from roughly crashing his lips into hers, a low growl humming in his chest. For a moment, the only thing on their minds was the skin-on-skin contact, and soon more than simply shirt buttons came undone. The connection was broken the moment Hermione's alcohol consumption took over, however, causing her to black out in the heat of the moment. In a daze, Draco blinked furiously to try and clear the lustful fog in his mind, and within seconds, he was standing again, his half-opened shirt crinkled at the collar. Clearing his throat, the man ran a hand through his hair and cautioned a glance at the unconscious woman on the couch. She was still sitting upright, but her mouth was slightly open, and soon a light snore interrupted the silence.

Draco took a moment to collect himself, the cool air of the room feeling a bit harsh in comparison to the warmth from before. With slight hesitation, he lifted the sleeping woman and carried her to the bedroom, pulling back the covers and placing her on the bed easily. She looked at peace for the first time in a few weeks, despite the dark circles under her eyes. It was almost enough to make Draco smile, were he to allow himself to be affected by this.

He sat beside her and pulled the covers up to her chin. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was an intruder in the bedroom and considered leaving, but he figured he could stay for a while. At least until the sun rose. Remembering his decision to obtain a glass of water, he shuffled to the kitchen and back relatively quickly.

After setting a glass of water on the bedside table, he removed his socks and shoes and sat on the other side of the bed against the headboard, staring at the opposite wall. The sorrow of the room seemed to ricochet off the walls and stab him in the chest; there wasn't a speck of happiness in the room, and the picture frames turned down didn't help lighten the atmosphere. Hermione was in mourning, and he had taken advantage of that. _Right?_ Closing his eyes, Draco mulled the thought over for a while before shoving any thoughts riddled with emotion to the back of his mind. He didn't want to analyze the situation, so he summed it up to poor decisions while under the influence. _Deep thought is best when there isn't a woman sleeping beside you._

The sun rose quickly that morning with blinding, golden light, much to Hermione's chagrin. Its rays peeked through her curtains as though they were teasing her – reminding her that she had drank too much last night. _Last night?_ Cracking her eyes open, Hermione refused to move her body. Her memory of the previous night was fuzzy, as though she were trying to tune into a static-filled TV channel. She drifted in and out of sleep for a few minutes, but a shout forced her into consciousness.

"What the bloody hell is HE doing here?!"

Groaning, Hermione forced her eyes open and stared unseeingly at the voice she knew all too well. "What, Ronald?" The man looked absolutely furious, and Hermione was the perfect image of innocent confusion.

"You well know what I'm talking about, _bitch_," Ron hissed, not looking at her but at something to her left.

Hermione's brows furrowed as she turned to find a shock of blonde hair beside her. She froze, seeing the man's half-lidded eyes focused on her. It seems as though he hadn't fully woken yet, but Ron's voice was enough to rouse him. "Weasley. Not exactly what I was yearning to see this morning," he drawled, taking his time with sitting up. Draco popped his neck, suddenly fully awake as Ron pulled out his wand. "There's no need for that," he said sternly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and kicking his shoes on. "It's not as though this is your home _now_, is it?"

Ron's gaze had switched from Draco to Hermione, a look of complete betrayal on his face. "Just because I said I wanted a divorce does NOT mean that you can go screw Draco bloody Malfoy!" His skin was splotched from his anger, the look rather unbecoming on him.

Hermione's head was splitting, and she held a hand to her forehead, her eyes shut tightly. "Will you stop yelling for two seconds? I'm just as confused as you are!"

Standing, Draco walked towards the doorway, a smirk on his face as Ron recoiled from him. "I'll see you at work, _Hermione,"_ he said lightly, throwing her a casual wave as he left the room.

Ron looked as though he was about to explode, but instead of saying anything, he snatched Hermione's wedding ring from the dresser and shoved it into his pocket. "You never deserved this," he seethed, his voice raw. He apparated away at that moment, but Hermione could still feel his wrathful gaze upon her. _What happened last night?_ Hermione asked herself, a silent flow of tears falling for the hundredth time that week. She was confused more than ever, and the hangover wasn't helping in the slightest. Her tears stopped within a few minutes, and she pushed herself to her feet, shuffling towards the kitchen to find a potion for hangovers. Surely she had one in the pantry…

A figure by the fireplace caught her attention, and she whipped her head towards it too quickly. "Ooooh," she moaned, leaning against the wall for support. "What are you still doing here, Malfoy?" Draco's eyes held something Hermione couldn't place, and for a moment she was fearful.

"Last night," the man said slowly, grabbing a handful of floo powder as he spoke. "You said that you had quit your job at the Ministry. Is that true?"

Blinking, Hermione took a moment to process the words. "Y-yes," she replied, not making the connection as to why he cared to know.

"I suppose I won't be seeing you at work, then," he said softly, throwing the powder into the fireplace. He stepped into the green flames and was gone with a _crack._

Hermione slid against the wall until she sat on the floor, holding her head in her hands. _This isn't how my life is supposed to play out. This isn't _me.

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't too sure she knew who she was anymore.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I don't plan on switching locations as much in the coming chapters, so the page breaks should be less frequent. You may be confused about the actions of this chapter, but I assure you... It will ALL be explained! This is NOT going to be a romance right now (I hate when romance builds quickly from the beginning), but this event is important for the future! It'll all be explained in good time~ Have no fear~ :)  
>I'll stop having author's notes soon (maybe next chapter) so I don't annoy you all~ ;)<p>

Thanks for reading!


	3. Ch 2: An Odd Restart

**Chapter 2: An Odd Restart**

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><p>The chatter in the Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was merely background noise to Hermione's ears. Even her fellow professors' idle chatter couldn't rouse her from her thoughts. Headmistress McGonagall kept shooting the younger witch furtive looks of reproach, but Hermione took no notice. She was staring into her shiny, silver platter as though it were a pensieve, the images of her mind's eye <em>almost<em> visible in its smooth surface.

"_Hermione! Don't tell me that the rumors are true!"_

_Looking up from the box she was wantonly throwing office supplies into, Hermione waved her hand impatiently at Nina, her "friend" at the Ministry. "Don't bother asking questions you already know the answers to, Nina. I'm leaving, and that's that." With an air of finality, she flicked her wand and closed the box shut, placing her tiny, potted plant on top of the box. "You best get back to work before John sees you slacking."_

_Nina looked aghast. "You gave JOHN your position as head of the department? You can't be serious, Hermione! He'll run us ragged!" As Hermione stood to leave, Nina scuttled over to her and blocked her path as much as possible with her petite frame. "Listen to me, Hermione! This isn't like you! You're not one to quit your job on a whim! It's not routine!"_

_Hermione's head snapped up and her eyes locked onto Nina like a predator locking onto its prey. "Nina," she said stiffly, her wand hand twitching. "I can't stay here." Almond eyes swirling with conviction, the woman picked up the plant and forced it upon Nina. "You can keep Harold. I'm sure he'll miss the office if I take him with me; be sure to water him nights. His leaves droop if you miss a few days, and I haven't taken to magically tending for him, so you'll have to do it all manually." Her gaze softened as she toured the contours of the plant's leaves one last time. "Take care of him for me, Nina," she said softly. _

_Before Nina could reply, Hermione rushed past the woman, and her box of office supplies hovered behind her._

_Nina's face fell while taking in the now-empty office. She turned to leave, Harold in hand, when a shine caught her eye. "Hermione! You forgot something!" Face-down on the floor under the desk, almost as though it had been purposefully knocked off, was a nameplate with the words "Hermione Jean Weasley – Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head" etched into its cold metal surface._

"_You can't run from him, Hermione," Nina whispered, absentmindedly petting Harold's leaves. "He's your ex-husband. Still your husband?" Nina's brows furrowed. She really had no idea where Hermione's divorce was at the moment, assuming that's what was going on. Nina had seen the ex-couple without their rings for a few weeks now, and the talk among the Ministry was that Hermione had an abortion for an unwanted baby (maybe not the first time, considering the couple was in their early thirties), forcing Ron to file for divorce since such an act was against his moral code. But Nina wasn't too sure that was the correct story, and she hadn't had the chance to pry the truth out of Hermione before her abrupt departure. "Ah, well." Leaving the office, she nodded to John as he practically ran to claim his new, rather large desk. "I'm sure it'll all reveal itself eventually, won't it, Harold?"_

A sigh passed Hermione's lips as she came out of her reverie. Nina had called out to her after she left the office, but Hermione hadn't turned around. _I wonder if Harold is okay…_

It had been exactly one week since Hermione left the Ministry, and the decision weighed heavily on her heart. The Ministry had been her home ever since she left Hogwarts after finishing her seventh year of schooling. _Over ten years ago_, Hermione thought, a frown marring her face. And I'm alone. _Might as well get a new cat at this rate._

Swallowing a sigh, she briefly glanced at the students as they awaited the first year students' arrival. Someone Hermione didn't know – a Professor Mulligan, perhaps? – was supposedly gathering the children and explaining the Sorting process. Hermione was curious about the Sorting Hat's song of the year, but the other things on her mind took precedence. Was I right to leave the Ministry? Her reasons for leaving had been listed as "a conflict of interest." She had heard whispers about Ronald being her reason for leaving, but really, couldn't they give her more credit than that? It wasn't as though the man and she were tied at the hip, for Merlin's sake! She was allowed to have her own life outside of her husband! _Ex-husband_, she reminded herself, tapping the place where her wedding ring once sat. _You're a free woman now, able to do as you wish! Just look at McGonagall! She's doing wonderfully for her age, and I don't see a hint of regret in her eyes!_

McGonagall caught Hermione's eye at that moment, causing the younger of the two to shift uncomfortably in her seat. Her old professor hadn't made her nervous in the past, but now that she was _working_ for the woman, she sorely hoped to never get on her bad side.

Forcing herself to move onto other things, Hermione's thoughts drifted back towards her job at the Ministry. After Hogwarts, she, Ron, and Harry had all gone to the Ministry for work. Harry and Ron easily acclimated to Auror work, but Hermione wasn't sure she wanted back on the front lines. They had just left them, after all, and not all of them had come back in one piece. _Or at all._ Shivering, Hermione watched the first years file into the room behind a tall woman with hair as black as a raven's wing. She tried to stay focused on the event, but something was prodding her in the back of her mind. Something wanted her attentions…

Scowling once more, she continued her staring contest with her silver plate, digging up memories to try and alleviate the nagging feeling that she was missing vital information. Soon enough, an image of Ron and Harry and herself holding mugs of hot chocolate came to mind; the three of them were discussing their career choices.

"_Magical Law Enforcement? Hermione, doesn't that sound a bit…"_

"_Dull?" Ron finished for Harry. Shooting his friend a scornful look, he continued, "Taxing. Doesn't that sound difficult? Think of us when we were younger – think of Fred and George! Without Voldemort around for parents to hold over their children's heads as a reason not to use magic outside of school, you could have a lot on your hands. Not to mention cases like Mr. Weasley had with the exploding toilets; surely you'll have to deal with those cases as well, even if you're with a different department. Think about it, Hermione." Standing, Harry took his empty mug to the kitchen to refill._

_Hermione pursed her lips at her boyfriend. "You don't think Auror work will be boring with all of the Death Eaters gone, Ronald? They can't have much else to do besides chase down voodoo witch doctors scamming Muggles."_

_Ron almost looked hurt, as though Hermione had damaged his pride. "Being an Auror is a right shot better than working with Law Enforcement, unless you're on the front lines. I hear Malfoy is joining your department." His nose crinkled in disgust. "I bet he's just wanting to find loopholes in the system that he can make good use of. Or maybe even create his own loopholes." His blue eyes reflected an angry storm consuming the coast. "He's going into active duty, I hear, so you won't see him much, 'Mione. Thank Merlin." Placing his hand on her knee, Ron looked at Hermione sharply. "Are you sure you'd rather sit on the sidelines?" When Hermione nodded, he couldn't hide the disappointment from his voice. "I suppose not all of us are cut out for field work. Imagine Neville as a field agent!"_

Ron had smoothly changed the subject, and the two never spoke of their differing decisions again. That is, until he drunkenly insulted Hermione one evening during their first year of marriage. Hermione's frown deepened, and she shook her head to rid herself of the memory. _I really need to bottle some of these away if I'm to move on with my life…_

"Scorpius Malfoy!"

Taken by surprise, Hermione jerked her body upright, the force of the action greater than the force of gravity keeping her chair's legs on the floor. With a _thud_ that echoed through the hall, Hermione fell flat on her back, successfully knocking the wind out of her. There was a moment of silence as all heads turned towards the staff table, and Hermione could feel her cheeks burning. Shakily, she picked herself off of the floor and stared at the throng of students, smiling as though nothing had happened, despite the fact that her loose bun of curls was now in complete disarray with a few strands sticking out at odd angles.. She didn't fool the Hogwarts' populace, however, as whispers broke out as soon as Hermione's head popped up from behind the table.

Professor Mulligan cleared her throat loudly, commanding the attention of the room once more. Scorpius Malfoy was a tiny sprout with hair as platinum blonde as his father's. And just like his father during his Sorting, the boy had his hair slicked back and held an air of importance about him. _Figures_, Hermione mentally snorted. _Of course the next Pureblood in society would be raised the same as his predecessors, without an inkling of concern for the rest of the—_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione's eyes widened as Scorpius was greeted by the cheering Gryffindor table, none of the students seeming to make the connection of the Malfoy name with Slytherin.

A tap on Hermione's arm pulled her attention to the man beside her. "Professor Weasley," Horace Slughorn said softly. "I do think you should sit down now."

Slowly, Hermione took her seat, forgetting to correct Horace in his usage of the incorrect name. _When did Malfoy become a father?_ Hermione hadn't recalled anyone mentioning that the man had sired an heir, but then again, she wasn't exactly normal company in Draco's social circle. _Unless Narcissa and Lucius had another child? _The idea of the elderly couple having another child was enough to make Hermione's face turn a light shade of green. She quickly dismissed the idea. _If they didn't have another child, then how could Draco continue his work at the Ministry with a child to care for?_ She pondered the idea of House Elves taking care of young Scorpius, but she didn't think Draco would be that heartless. _And what of the mother?_

Squinting, Hermione could almost picture Draco's hands from her encounter with him at Flourish and Blotts and the Leaky Cauldron a few weeks ago. Before she had focused in on his ring finger, however, she heard her name being said.

"Professor Hermione Granger will be taking the position of Charms Professor, as Filius Flitwick has retired." The Headmistress motioned for Hermione to stand, a twinkle in the elder woman's eyes.

Rising, Hermione blinked twice before gaining her composure, staring calmly out at the crowd.

"She will also be taking over as Gryffindor Head of House and will be leading the Gryffindor first year students to their Common Room after the welcome feast."

Hermione took her seat once more, and Horace gave her an encouraging pat on the hand. "I do hope you'll be joining us at Slug Club dinner parties," he wheezed with a smile. "Ms. Granger, it seems. I am sorry for your loss," he added softly, as though she were a widower. The way Hermione saw it, though, he was quite right - she _was_ a widow.

The food appeared a moment later, and Horace Slughorn took to going into excruciating detail about his latest exploits over the summer and what great deals he had gotten from selling various potions and ingredients.

Hermione allowed the conversation to steal her attention and put her personal issues on the back burner for the duration of the dinner. It seemed like seconds had passed when McGonagall clapped her hands and dismissed the students to their Common Rooms. Hermione pushed her chair back and excused herself from the staff table before briskly walking to the group of first year Gryffindors huddled together in the corner of the large room. "Come along!" she called to them, almost like a shepherdess to her sheep.

The children followed her meekly; some of them whispered to one another when they thought Hermione wasn't looking. The woman smiled broadly and motioned for the students to keep up, patting her hair absentmindedly as she walked. She was feeling at peace for the first time in a long time as she moved through the candlelit halls of Hogwarts. "How many of you have read _Hogwarts, A History_?" she asked suddenly, pausing before a set of stone stairs as they moved from connecting one floor to the next. One hand rose from the group, and Hermione was surprised to see that it was young Scorpius. "Then you can explain why the staircases move, I presume?" she gently prodded, her smile barely reaching her eyes. _That's an odd coincidence._

Scorpius began telling the tale of the moving staircases, continuing even as the group began their journey once more. He commanded the attention of those around him well; he even went into detail about other aspects of the castle's history as they continued moving towards Gryffindor tower.

Hermione was uneasy by having to cut him off upon reaching the Fat Lady's portrait. She knew all too well what it was like to know more than her peers and wish to share her knowledge. "This is the entrance to your Common Room," she said silkily after gently silencing Scorpius, pleased to see all eyes on her. "You aren't to bring anyone from another House here, understand?" A few tiny heads bobbed up and down, and Hermione continued. "Once inside, I'll give you all the current password. You only need to speak it to the Fat Lady, and she should let you in." Doing so, Hermione stepped through the portrait hole. The children followed her like baby chicks following their mother hen. A chorus of "oohs" and "ahhs" sounded as they took in the room's décor, some of them hastily taking residence in the couch and armchairs by the fire. Hermione smiled broadly, a sense of pride and nostalgia engulfing her. "The current password to the common room is 'Godric Gryffindor.' You'll need to not forget it, but help each other out if one of you should forget it." She folded her hands in front of her. "The password changes every so often, and your Prefects and Head Students – you'll meet them tomorrow, if not sooner – will give them to you as necessary."

Not everyone was listening now, but Hermione projected her voice so the entire room would hear her. "The girls' dormitories are to the left, and the boys' are on the right! I look forward to seeing you soon! Let's aim to win the House Cup this year!"

None of the students cheered as she had been hoping, but that was alright, in Hermione's opinion. They would grow to have House pride soon enough. Aiming to leave, Hermione was accosted by someone who barely reached her waist in height. Not hiding her surprise, she raised an eyebrow at the student. "Yes?"

Holding out his hand, the boy waited for Hermione to shake it. "My name is Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy." He shook Hermione's hand as best he could with the size difference of their hands. "I wished to introduce myself. My father has spoken rather highly of you, although my grandfather doesn't seem to like that too much."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Luckily, she was saved from doing either by James Potter II running over to her after he had entered the Common Room. "Hermione!" he squeaked excitedly, seeming slightly embarrassed by his pitch change. Hermione laughed and hugged the boy, ruffling his hair as she held him at arm's length. "It's so good to see you! How's your father?"

James batted the woman's hand away before responding. "He's worried about you, actually," he said softly. "Told me to keep an eye on you. Mum was surprised that you had taken this position, I think."

Hermione's smile was forced this time. "I'll be sure to write them soon." Noticing Scorpius watching the pair curiously, Hermione cursed herself for forgetting his presence. "James," she said gently, turning the boy by his shoulders. "This is Scorpius Malfoy. I knew his father when I was a student here."

Nodding politely, James acknowledged Scorpius. "My father told me to not let you beat me at anything."

Scorpius, taking this smoothly, replied with, "My father said likewise for both you and your younger sister. I hear she's in my year."

Hermione felt the tension in the air between the two and dismissed herself, bidding them both goodnight. This year is going to be a strange one… _Wait, Harry knew that Draco had a son?! Did Ron know?!_

With a huff, she marched out of the Common Room and to her new office to send a stern letter to one Mr. Harry Potter, but she had no idea why she was so miffed by this secret. Or, at least, she was denying any logical reasons that came to mind.

_An odd year, indeed._


	4. Ch 3: In Fate's Hands

**Chapter 3: In Fate's Hands**

**Author's Note: **There are Pottermore spoilers in this chapter. I've also decided that my update day will either be Saturdays or Sundays. :) Yay decisions~ Oh, and it has come to my attention that one of the errors in the last chapter was that it is Rose Weasley who is in Scorpius' year, not James' younger sister, Lily. For the sake of this FF since there are no next-gen Weasley children, I'll be making Lily Potter the child in Scorpius' year, with Albus Severus Potter being younger and not attending Hogwarts as of yet. So the two Potter children have switched places, with James still being the eldest child.

* * *

><p>The cup of tea in her hands was warm, almost too warm to touch. Instead of placing the delicate china on the table to cool, Hermione grasped it tightly, willing the burning sensation to continue. Willing herself to <em>feel.<em>

The first week of classes had passed well enough; Professor Granger was a nice woman with soft eyes and a firm, yet delicate way of speaking to her students. It fooled everyone into thinking that she was fine and coping marvelously with the changes in her life. No husband to greet with a kiss upon returning home, no cat brushing against her feet as she tried to rush to work, no concerned coworkers' eyes reflecting the pools of emptiness in her eyes. Only ungraded papers to greet at night, lost and wandering students embarrassingly asking for directions around the castle, and eyes filled with excitement and promise for the future.

Minerva McGonagall could see past Hermione's exterior to the raw emotion within. The fires of Ms. Granger's heart had not been extinguished, only smothered by circumstances beyond the young witch's control. "Ms. Granger," the woman said softly, taking hold of Hermione's wrists and forcing herself to place the cup on her desk. "If you hold onto that for too long you'll be unable to hold your wand comfortably."

Slowly prying her fingers from the cup, Hermione placed her hands in her lap and stared at the dark, steaming liquid. "Forgive me, Headmistress. I'm not the most talkative tonight."

"Minerva, please," the woman said, clasping her hands together and placing them on the desk. The pair was sitting in the elder woman's office for their weekly tea date, a tradition Minerva insisted upon. It was only their second meeting, but she knew that Hermione would warm up to their meetings soon enough. She just needed a little push in the right direction. "I would prefer you call me Minerva, Hermione. You're not my student anymore, and I would prefer us be on more friendly terms, especially after all that we've been through together."

Hermione nodded stiffly, the words barely registering. "Of course."

There was a moment of silence in which Minerva watched the young witch. She surmised that Hermione put on a brave face for the sake of the rest of the staff and the students, but being in Dumbledore's old office must have torn her armor down. "How does it feel," she began softly, "Being back at Hogwarts? I'm sure there are many _difficult_ memories for you, as for many."

It was a moment before Hermione responded, almost sounding hesitant. "It's… An adjustment." She didn't say anything more, and Minerva waited for her to gather her thoughts. "I mean," she said briskly, picking at her nails absentmindedly. "It's wonderful to be back, and I enjoy teaching. It's just… Different." Her eyes flickered around the room for a moment. "It's been years, and yet everything looks the same. It's almost like I used a Time Turner and am simply taking a trip down memory lane, except the faces and names are different. The _atmosphere_ is the same, and that's what's unsettling. Time at Hogwarts seems to move slower than elsewhere."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione allowed her shoulders to slump. "I wanted a fresh start, Minerva. I really did. But I just… I'm not sure Hogwarts is where I should be. I still feel like there's something _missing_, and it's frustrating that I don't know what that is."

"Hermione," Minerva said sternly, satisfied when the witch's eyes flickered to meet her own. "Have I ever told you that I used to work at the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well?"

A spark of curiosity jolted Hermione then. "No, I don't believe so."

Nodding, Minerva took off her glasses and cleaned them with her robe sleeve. "Why yes, I worked there for a few years." She paused to inspect her cleaning job. "I wasn't too happy there, Hermione. I was disappointed and surprised to be so melancholy. I had been planning on a career at the Ministry for quite some time, and the realization that it wasn't my heart's desire took time to sink in."

Hermione watched her Headmistress's lips twitch into a semblance of a smile.

"Before working for the Ministry, I had found someone to share my life with." Minerva's expression turned wistful for a moment. "He was a fine man; the type of person who could tell fabulous stories and still leave room for your own. For you two to share stories. Memories." Taking a more serious tone, the woman cleared her throat. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Hesitantly, Hermione shook her head. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"I left him." There was no bitterness in her voice, no resentment for a choice made in the past. "I was brought up in a household where magic was… unsavory." Taking a breath, the Headmistress tapped her china cup in thought. "I was raised having to hide my magic from my father. He found out we – my mother and I – were witches, yes, but it never settled well with him. A life with Dougal would have been more or less the same; more secrets. More denial of who I truly was."

Reaching for her cup, Hermione gingerly raised it to her lips. The tea was lukewarm now, but she sipped it as though it were scalding. "Dougal was your first love's name?"

With a half-smile, Minerva nodded. "Yes, Dougal McGregor." Pouring herself another cup of tea, she continued. "Leaving Dougal was a difficult decision, but had I stayed, I knew I would have been miserable. I saw my future self as my mother, bound and nearly broken." She poured Hermione a fresh cup as well. "At the Ministry, everything was supposed to be wonderful. I had graduated from Hogwarts with wonderful scores on my OWLS and NEWTS, I was both Prefect and Head Girl, and I had played on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Life was supposed to go smoothly from then on, but it seemed as though Fate had other plans."

Hermione was silent. She refused to allow her mind to drift to Ron – it stung too much to think of him. Everything _hurt_ when she remembered him; her chest burned and her bones felt as though they would snap. It was far too easy to think of him at Hogwarts, and every corner she turned had her thinking he was waiting around the bend. _Maybe it was a mistake coming here…_

"Everything happens for a reason, Hermione."

She hadn't realized that she had lowered her head, but when Hermione looked at the woman across from her, she noticed not scorn but hope. Having the distinct feeling that there was more to Minerva's story, Hermione was poised to question when Minerva shook her head.

"Another time, dear."

Feeling a bit put out, Hermione's skin bristled. It was as though she were reading a great novel to only have it ripped from her hands right at the end.

Minerva looked amused as she changed the subject. "How are your classes going? I've heard wonderful things from both students and fellow professors."

Pursing her lips, Hermione replied with, "Yes, well, the students are proving excellent pupils. As for the staff, I'm sure that's not all they say about me." Just the other night, she had heard one of the newer, younger professors mouthing off to a comrade about how he deserved the Head of House position over Hermione, as he had been teaching at the castle longer. "Some of them seem downright fiendish at times, although the evidence of such is currently in the process of being collected."

A light-hearted laugh almost echoed off of the walls as Minerva clapped her hands. "You must mean Professor Hollingsworth. Yes, he's quite a proud one. I believe he attended Hogwarts a few years after yourself, if my memory is correct. He was always rather… involved in Gryffindor's affairs." Her eyes sparkled as she added, "I believe he's been a bit sore ever since he didn't make Head Boy."

Hermione would have normally chuckled at the thought of a professor still being bitter about something of the past, but she wasn't in the proper mood tonight. "I best be on my toes when he's around, shan't I? I wouldn't want him to transfigure me into a toad for good measure."

Adjusting her spectacles, Minerva deftly switched topics once more. "What of young Mister Scorpius Malfoy? I hear he's an exemplary student. Enough so to compete with Miss Lily Potter."

Smiling stiffly, Hermione placed her cup back on the desk. "Yes, Scorpius is quite like myself during my first year at Hogwarts. He's enthusiastic and a bit of a know-it-all. It's a wonder how I came to make any friends at all with that attitude." The woman tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, not looking at Minerva. "He seems popular among his class. Although I've heard that he doesn't have the flying prowess of his father." The last word came out as a bit of a squeak, and Hermione hastily hoisted her tea in the air and took a large, unladylike gulp.

Minerva raised an eyebrow but said nothing of Hermione's change in behavior. "It's odd that he was placed in Gryffindor, don't you think? But I suppose Sirius was in Gryffindor, despite his Pureblood status." Pondering the idea, she hummed to herself for a moment. "Unless Draco Malfoy isn't as strict as his family in that regard. Or the mother, I suppose, although I don't believe I've heard her name lately, and although I may have heard it once before, I don't believe it's a prominent memory of mine." Continuing, she mused, "Perhaps Neville knows."

Hermione gave a start at the mention of her old classmate. With everything that had been happening with Ronald and the Ministry, Hermione hadn't kept up with her old friends. "Neville Longbottom? Prof—_Minerva_," she corrected herself, "What makes you think that Neville would know?"

Crinkling her forehead in disbelief, Minerva said lightly, "My dear, Neville has kept in contact with most of the Order members, including Luna Lovegood. I'm certain that Luna would know, and by extension, Neville. The man has been holed up in Greenhouse Five for the longest time; something about a venomous tentacula that grew out of hand all of a sudden…" Trailing off, Minerva took a breath before changing the direction of the conversation again. "I've noticed your interest in the Malfoy boy. Tell me, has he said anything about his family?"

Hermione had been in the middle of taking a sip of tea when Minerva asked her question, and the witch almost choked. After a few coughs, she wiped a stray tear from her eye and breathlessly replied, "Slightly." Tea splashed onto the table as she practically threw her cup onto the desk. _Control yourself, Hermione._ With a huff, she waved her wand and the spill quickly disappeared.

"He's an inquisitive child and often asks about other students' families, and the questions are almost like rapid-fire back and forth between himself and his classmates. I can hardly keep up." Upon realizing that she had been speaking quickly, her face flushed. "I overheard him mention that his father had once been saved by Harry, and I was quite surprised that he admitted that so readily. He seemed rather proud of the fact, and I think that may be the reason he chose Gryffindor for his house. 'My family was all in Slytherin,'" she quoted the boy softly. "'But my father once told me that the Chosen One Harry Potter plucked him out of a fiery inferno.' He was quite excited about this, I think. It may have been simply from the attention, but I find it quite odd that he isn't as I expected him to be."

Chewing on her lip for a moment, she tried to remember the boy's exact wording before giving up after a moment. "Anyway, that's all the conversation that I allowed before beginning class. It's odd that he would mention Harry, is it not?"

Minerva looked thoughtful. "The Malfoys weren't the most loyal to Voldemort. At first, maybe, but towards the end of the war, they defected. This generation of the family must be breaking tradition."

"I'm not so sure that it's something the Malfoys have necessarily agreed upon," Hermione said after a moment. "I think there's a bit of a rivalry between Scorpius and the Potter children."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Nodding to herself, Minerva placed her empty cup down. "Were they in separate houses, I would expect a more hostile rivalry. As it is, they'll hopefully not lose many house points from this. I would hate to see Gryffindor lose the House Cup due to a civil disagreement."

A clock chimed in the far corner of the room, and Hermione stood from her seat. "I should be going. I've got tomorrow's lesson to plan for my fifth year students."

Minerva reached out and patted Hermione's hand. "Thank you for coming. I'll expect you next week at the same time."

Hermione nodded curtly and swept out of the room, shivering as she traversed the darkened halls. McGonagall's airy voice whispered in her mind. _Everything happens for a reason, Hermione._ Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. A memory hit her full force; an image of a warm body lying beside her. Instead of thick, red hair coming to mind, all she could see was a messy shock of blonde acting as curtains to grey eyes that seemed endless.

_Everything happens for a reason, Hermione._


	5. Ch 4: Blood and Betrayal

**Chapter 4: Blood and Betrayal**

There wasn't much that could startle Hermione anymore. Her instincts from the war, although not as sharp as they once were, still kicked in when situations called for it. They were mostly useful in class when students were being rowdy or rebellious, and her quick reactions and thinking often intimidated her students. _All the better in the long run_, Hermione told herself with a smile.

She had found a sense of peace at Hogwarts after her first weekly tea meeting with McGonagall; the woman was truly a beacon of hope for Hermione, and after their chats, the tension left her shoulders and she stepped with a newfound confidence through the halls.

The bubble of inner peace shattered when she heard _it_.

Her hearing immediately honed in on the sound, and she took off in a sprint. Chest heaving, hair flying, heart pounding, Hermione Jean Granger thundered through the corridor, skidding to a halt as she came up on three boys, all of whom had their wands aimed at each other's throats. Immediately, Hermione brandished her own wand and called out," STOP, all of you!" The sound of a spell firing still thrummed in her ears.

The boys' eyes never left each other's, but the youngest boy slowly lowered his wand.

"James Potter, lower your wand NOW. Nero Zabini—LOWER YOUR WAND THIS INSTANT!"

Red light shot out of Nero's wand and towards James as the former whispered an incantation, but the boy stepped out of the way and raised his wand high—

"Expelliarmus!" James's wand shot out of his hand and towards Hermione. Even before the woman had snatched it out of the air, Nero's was on its way to her as well. "You boys," she said sternly, still breathing heavily, "Should be _ashamed_ of yourselves!" She plucked the wands out of the air tapped them against her thigh in one hand, clenching her own wand in the other. "Scorpius," she said sternly, fixing him with a glowering look. "Thank you for lowering your wand. But that still does not excuse you for aiming it at another student! Or anyone for that matter!"

Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the trio. The elder two were glaring at each other as though they could set fire to the other's trousers. Sighing, Hermoine stood in between them both and glanced from one to the other. "What happened?"

No one spoke for a few seconds. Hermione raised a thin eyebrow and turned to Scorpius when Nero spat on the ground. The _splat_ of saliva was revolting. "It's nothing _your_ kind would understand... _Professor_," he added slowly, almost tauntingly. A proud smirk tainted his lips, and Hermione's face boiled a bright red.

"Why you little—" James started, taking quick steps towards the boy before Hermione held up a hand to halt him.

"Nero Zabini! To your dormitories _immediately_! Do not let me catch you in the halls again or it's detention for a month!" Bristling, she added, "One-hundred points from Slytherin and detention with Filch this coming Monday! Now off you go!"

Head held high, Nero held out his hand, palm up, towards his professor. He raised an eyebrow in innocent questioning as Hermione simply stared at him. "My wand?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "You'll get this back tomorrow morning. Off to bed. Now."

His eyes flashed maliciously for only a moment; Hermione was sure that anyone other than a war veteran would have missed it. She, however, saw it for exactly as it was. A deep, gnawing hatred, this time aimed towards Muggle borns. Her kind. _Her._

Nero turned away from Hermione and daintily walked past her, roughly bumping into James's shoulder as he passed. He paused beside Scorpius and muttered something Hermione didn't catch before continuing his leisurely stroll towards the dungeons.

The hair on Hermione's neck stood on end at the implication the boy had made. Cocoa eyes narrowed, she felt cold, as though her chest were a thick piece of ice waiting to crack. _Mudblood_. She heard it clearly in her head, just as she heard it clearly in Nero's tone. _Mudblood. Good-for-nothing. Poison of the Wizarding World_. She shivered, an echo from her past surfacing.

Blonde hair, always blonde hair. A sneer pulling his lips tight and an air of satisfaction as Hermione felt a tear slide down her plump cheek. Laughter and jeers pummeling her, forcing her feet farther into the ground, the grass not strong enough to keep her from falling deeper and deeper into the ground. Or so it felt, really, since in reality she didn't move. Not even a millimeter.

Shivering, Hermione returned to the present and to the two remaining boys, only truly seeing the blonde of one boy's hair until she blinked a few times. Scorpius looked paler than normal, and Hermione's face twitched from the mixed feelings of pain and concern. "Are you alright?" She reached out to touch the boy's forehead with the back of her hand, but he recoiled. "Scorpius—"

"I'm fine," he said tightly, his eyes to the ground. "May I go now?"

Hesitantly, his professor muttered, "Yes, you may go. But I'll expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning with an explanation for tonight's affairs."

Nodding, Scorpius Malfoy turned on his heel and retreated towards the Gryffindor Common Room, his footfalls easily lost in the sound of torches flickering.

A heavy sigh escaped Hermione, one that James didn't miss. "Professor," he said darkly, "Zabini is a foul-mouthed—"

Hermione silenced the boy with a sharp look. "Watch your mouth, James Potter."

"It's true! You know it is! You should have _heard_ the things that vile _Slytherin_ was saying to Scorpius!"

Sighing, Hermione rolled her shoulders backwards once to try and loose some tension. Her slight burst of adrenaline had dispersed, leaving her feeling more drained than before the altercation. "What happened?"

James was brimming with the answer. "Zabini just walks up to us – Scorpius and I – and starts throwing insults at him! I've known Nero since our first year together at Hogwarts, he's in my year, you know, and I've never seen him look so put off! But it doesn't make sense to me. Nero is more of the collected type, so I don't know what would set him off." Frowning, James muttered a few things and started pacing.

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes and waiting for James to speak again.

"He said some harsh things, Hermoine."

The woman couldn't help but muse how much James looked like his father then, and a half-smile softened her features. "Boys will be cruel, James, it happens quite often—"

"No," James said loudly, the sound echoing through the halls. "_Cruel_ things, Professor. Things people of old would say, not a current third year at Hogwarts."

It took Hermione a second to fully grasp what James was trying to say. "But James, the Pureblood status isn't as prominent as it once was. Ever since the Minister worked with Muggle scientists to look into genealogy and specifically the genes separating Muggles from Wizards, the notion that Purebloods are better than Muggles and other Witches and Wizards has nearly gone extinct, and that was revealed about eight years ago. I highly doubt that young Mister Zabini would still hold such…" Trailing off, Hermione frowned. Nero _had_ implied that she was inferior just moments ago. Why had she been so quick to defend him when he was clearly doing just as James said merely minutes ago?

Looking up at his professor, James looked conflicted. "P-professor? Are you okay? You look kind of… spacey."

Wracking in a breath, Hermione's face flushed and she flailed her right arm for no reason. "Yes," she squeaked, taking another breath. "It's just been a while since I've been confronted with anything so… close to home." Absentmindedly, she rubbed her thumb over the underside of her forearm. It was prickling uncomfortably. "What exactly did he say, James?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper.

For a moment, the only sound was the pair's breathing. "He called him a blood traitor." Looking uncomfortable, James continued, "Nero was ruthless and zoned in on Scorpius like a _snake_. Scorpius just looked frozen, like he was having a bad dream." James scowled and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Nero was pissed, but I didn't understand why, nor did I really wait to find out. I was the first to pull out my wand." He gave Hermione a sheepish look, but the woman was lost in thought. "Then it escalated. Nero drew his wand while Scorpius fumbled for his own. Nero kept going, though, and said horrible things about Scorpius and his father, saying that his mother would be rolling around in her grave. 'To think a Malfoy would be in Gryffindor,'" James quoted, sounding scarily like Hermione imagined Nero would. "'Your dead mother must be howling, clawing at the lid to her coffin to try and escape to strangle the _traitors_ she once called family.'" James's eyes looked hollow, and Hermione had to force herself to look away.

Clearing her throat, Hermione hummed to herself for a moment and turned her thoughts in another direction. It was strange – the entire situation. Like the tables were turned, and she or Ron of the past were the ones in Scorpius's current situation. Hermione was a Mudblood to the Pureblood society, and Ronald was a blood traitor, or at least, in the _past_ they were. Just as she had told James, the Wizarding society had gradually changed to a more accepting society. The old blood mixed with the new, and there were very few entirely Pureblood families left. It seemed odd that the Zabinis would continue the old ways when so much was changing around them. And what of the Malfoys? Was Scorpius alone in his newfound way of thinking?

An image of Draco looming over her, his eyes molten silver and his pale skin a darker color, flashed in Hermione's mind, and she almost jumped out of her skin. James, not noticing, continued speaking.

"He called Scorpius and his father a stain on the Pureblood name. He said that they should go ahead and kill themselves so the world would be rid of traitors like them." James shivered, and his voice was quieter. "He said that they betrayed not only their ancestors but You-Know-Who."

Hermione froze, forgetting about the image from moments before. Her muscles all tensed at once and she forgot to breathe. "H-he said _what_?"

Nodding, James stayed silent. There was a ban in place on saying Voldemort's name now – the Potters and Weasleys found the law ridiculous, but there was a trace on anyone who spoke the name. Ridiculous, yes, but it was still cause for concern in the Ministry's eyes, it seemed.

Pursing her lips, Hermione immersed herself in deep thought. Draco and Blaise were friends in school; what drove them apart? The war? It was possible, of course, but unlikely in Hermione's eyes. The two sides stuck together, and only a few brave souls intermingled with both You-Know-Who's party (or what was left of them after the Death Eater trials commenced) and Harry's. Hermione had assumed that the Malfoys had returned to the manor and their remaining Pureblood families, but was this not so? Blaise and Draco wouldn't have been split so easily, would they have? Was it because the Malfoy's didn't fight in the final battle?

Warmth flooded through Hermione's icy skin as James put his hand on hers. "Professor? Hermione? Are you alright?"

Flinching, Hermione had to resist the urge to jerk away from the boy's touch. "Yes," she choked out, forcing a smile. "Yes, of course." There was another silence, although this time there was a palpable tension in the air. "James," Hermione said silkily, taking the boy by the shoulders, "You should head off to bed now. I'd hate to have to give you detention for wandering the halls past curfew."

James looked ready to protest, but with a wave of her wand, Hermione set his legs on forward motion to where they would continue until James reached the Fat Lady's portrait. "Professor! This is unfair! Turn the charm off!"

Chuckling, Hermione slipped James's wand in his pocket and watched her student's stiff-backed walk. "If you had been paying attention in class, you would know the counter-charm for it!"

James quieted down as the portraits complained about his muttering, and he soon rounded the corner and was out of Hermione's sight.

The energy Hermione previously had from her chat with McGonagall was entirely depleted, and Hermione felt the need for a long soak in one of the many baths Hogwarts housed. She needed to work through the information she had just gained; she needed to process it all. The Zabini family was no longer friends with the Malfoys? What of Narcissa and Lucius? What of Draco? And Scorpius's mother—_rolling around in her grave_? What had happened? Had the Malfoys taken to the notion that Muggles and Wizards were mostly identical genetically, or had something else caused a rift in the Pureblood society?

What was the reason for the animosity between Pureblood families?

**Author's Note:** I took the idea of Muggles and Wizards being the same genetically except for a mutation from Beringae's story, The Nietzsche Classes. If you haven't read it, I recommend you do! It's wonderful and compliments how I think Dramione shippings should evolve, really. :) All credit for the gene information / idea goes to her and her credentials!


	6. Ch 5: The Shadows

**Chapter 5: The Shadows**

* * *

><p>The chill in the air wasn't too much to handle as of yet, but with Halloween approaching, scarves and long socks were commonplace among the Hogwarts' population. It was a cloudy afternoon when Professor Granger set out with her class on a special trip to Hogsmeade. The breeze was slight; only enough to cause tendrils of hair to snake around one's face.<p>

"I want you all on your best behavior! McGonagall gave us tentative permission for today, so don't go wandering off! And for Merlin's sake, don't try stealing anything from the stores!" Hermione gave a certain pair of her first year students a sharp look as they exchanged hushed whispers with one another. "We're going to Honeydukes' first; keep together, now! Be inquisitive! We're here to learn about the various charms used in confections and in joke items when we visit Zonkos!"

She corralled her students into the candy store and smiled at their host for the day, the store's manager, nodding her thanks as the stout woman commanded the attention of the students. "So tell me, what's your favorite treat here in the store?"

* * *

><p>Barely half an hour had passed in the students' lesson in the joke shop before they grew restless and were bouncing on their heels, eager to leave the confines of the store. They had paid attention fairly well in Honeydukes, but apparently two stores in one day was too much for the children. Either that or they had consumed too much chocolate for their pre-adolescent bodies to handle.<p>

Hermione's smile was strained as the wiry man spoke in a soft monotone. A few minutes passed before the man was completely silent, his greying eyebrows raised as though to ask if there were any questions. Upon hearing none, he nodded curtly to Hermione and shuffled into the back room of the store, leaving the room in a silence that seemed to stretch forever.

With a deep breath, Hermione clapped her hands together and gestured to the door. "Come now, class! Before we head to Hogwarts, I'll allow you to pair off in groups of three in order to roam Hogsmeade, but don't get any ideas! I'll be watching all of you!"

The first year students excitedly claimed their partners, the misfits of the class being the final group to join out of necessity rather than desire. "Meet me back at Honeydukes in an hour," Hermione said sternly as she opened the front door with a creak. "Off you go! Be polite! Any mischief and you'll be serving detention with me next week!"

The children rushed underneath the woman's arm, all too eager to see what the tiny village had in store. The few groups that did drag their feet rather than burst from the building left soon enough, and Hermione followed suit. She wandered aimlessly, watching her little chicks flit around the area, some fascinated while others seemed bored. It brought a smile to Hermione's lips.

Pulling out a folded sheet of paper from her inner robe pocket, she held it in front of her. Tiny enough, the easily-concealable object looked like little more than a random scrap of parchment, but once Hermione lightly rapped her wand against it in a certain pattern, ink bled onto its surface.

_If you are worthy, let this map show you the way. In honor of the fallen, let the shadows be lit and the truth revealed. Dumbledore's Army presents to you: The Path of the Fallen._

Hermione shivered, a chilly breeze catching her off guard. The idea of a map with such a _heavy_ history weighed on her heart, especially since she had a personal connection to it. In case another Wizarding War broke out and their allies needed guidance, the map would be there in case they themselves (the members of the Order and the Army) were not. It had been an idea that Harry, Ron, and she had mulled over for a few years before bringing it to any sort of fruitation; the map was only a few years old now, but it had served various Army members well in their various lines of work.

Hermione had done most of the charm work for the map, so she knew how to use it better than most. It was like the Marauder's Map, only a bit more complex. Instead of only showing Hogwarts castle, it showed everywhere Dumbledore's Army (and the Order of the Phoenix by extension) had travelled during the war – all of the passageways and landmarks that they could remember. The map would show the area around the user – currently, it showed Hogsmeade. If in an area the map did not recognize (meaning that the creators hadn't inserted any information on that particular area), the map would remain completely blank; just a crinkled piece of off-white parchment.

Tiny footprints with names beneath them walked across the page, and Hermione took count of her students. All were accounted for, and all of them were in groups of three. Her eyes locked onto the name _Malfoy_ for a moment too long, but Hermione's skin tingled as she thought she saw two Malfoys listed. Blinking rapidly, she brought the map so close to her face that her nose tapped its surface; she could practically _taste_ the parchment.

_Draco Malfoy._

"_A map never lies,"_ she could hear Remus Lupin whisper to her, almost as though he were speaking to her through the map, gently guiding her. A cold chill seeped through her robes, her skin, and into her bones. Despite the fact that Remus was a comfort, seemingly feeling his presence was eerie. Everything was eerie these days. Not only did she see Ron everywhere, but she saw _everyone _everywhere. The dead; old classmates, old professors, old friends. Human beings of a past life, all gone. Only shadows dancing through Hogwarts' corridors or echoes of laughter ricocheting off of classroom walls.

Wracking in a breath, Hermione's eyes flickered up from the map towards the main stretch of the village. She could just barely see Scorpius and his group mates in the distance as they peered into Madam Puddifoot's shop. _Why would Draco be here?_

Gingerly folding the map and returning it to the inside pocket of her robes, Hermione set off at a brisk pace. She quickly came upon the place she desired and slowed her gait. Draco wasn't too far from her, nestled in the crook where two shops converged. He was lurking in the shadows (quite shady, Hermione noted), staring out at his son. As endearing as the gesture may have been, although probably creepy to those not knowing the man's relation to the boy, Hermione was still nonplussed. She lifted her chin and took a few slow, tentative steps forward, planning on confronting the man for his business in Hogsmeade. Shouldn't he be at the Ministry?

"Don't be so wary, Hermione. I won't bite."

The hairs on Hermione's arms stood as his silken voice washed over her, and she instinctively swallowed. "I'm simply being cautious. You may not even be the real Draco Malfoy, after all; I haven't the faintest idea why a member of the Ministry would be in _Hogsmeade_, of all places."

Draco didn't even so much as glance at her. His entire body was turned in focus on the boy a mere forty feet from them. Both the boy's father and his professor were completely out of Scorpius' sight, but it seemed that Draco wanted to keep it that way, for reasons unknown to Hermione. Surely he would want to say hello to his son while he was in the area?

Silently, Hermione joined Draco in watching Scorpius, the boy speaking enthusiastically to the pair before him. "He's happy, you know. He enjoys his classes and is one of the best students in his year. A fine addition to _Gryffindor."_

Draco didn't speak. Hermione wasn't sure that he had even heard her, which was irritating. She felt her blood begin to boil and pursed her lips. "You care enough to hide in the shadows and watch your son but not enough to approach him or hear of how he's been spending his days?"

Was _this_ what had become of Draco Malfoy? Is _this_ what had caused the rift in the Purebloods? Had the Malfoy family grown so detached from life itself?

Hermione despised having no answers; ever since the night of the tryst between Scorpius, James, and Nero, she had gotten no closer to solving the mystery. Everything was still a mystery, and it seemed that every inch she gained only moved her three inches backwards, really. Nothing added up.

The man's silence put her on edge. "Fine, then! Don't care about your son! Don't care—"

"_Hermione."_

Draco turned to her then, the look in his eyes far more perplexing than should have been possible. "You shouldn't speak of things you know nothing of."

That was all. Nothing more was said. Hermione's breath escaped her, the man already turning back to stare at his son. He didn't seem angry or distressed or hurt by her words; he seemed… calm. Oddly so.

It took all Hermione had not to cry from frustration.

She pursed her lips and was poised to leave when she felt fingers grasping her wrist. Confusion clouded her eyes as they flickered upwards to meet Draco's. He had turned his head to her, but his body still faced his son's. "You're too impatient, you know that?"

Scoffing, Hermione willed herself to pull her arm from his grasp, but apparently her body protested the idea. She remained linked to him, the warmth of his touch almost scalding.

"Things aren't as they seem," he continued softly, his eyes boring into hers. Draco released her arm, but the woman felt herself flush from the intensity of his gaze. Her eyes were trapped in his. A storm raged in their grey depths, and the veins showing through his pale skin were prominent in contrast.

Hermione's tongue grated against the roof of her mouth, and she was almost able to taste the grit from how parched she was. The man before her was not the image of health she had seen a few months prior; he looked ill. Fragile. As though there were another war going on, but one that she was completely unaware of. Her brows furrowed as she slowly nodded, the action enough for Draco to turn his attention back to Scorpius. The boy had run off by then, but Draco continued staring at the space the boy had previously occupied, as though an echo of the boy remained there for his viewing pleasure.

Draco's appearance wasn't a complete mess, Hermione noted. Merely his eyes looked haunted, and his cheeks were sallower than she'd seen them in years. Granted, Hermione's encounters with Draco had been limited, despite them previously working together at the Ministry. Frowning, she took in the dark shadows under his eyes.

As though on cue, Madam Rosmerta ungracefully bumped shoulders with Hermione, the woman looking frazzled with her hair rather unkempt.

"Rosmerta!" Reaching for the woman, Hermione steadied her and patted her shoulders for good measure. "Are you alright?" she asked, the hint of worry in her voice not going unnoticed by the elderly woman.

"Of course not, my dear!" With a huff of impatience, Rosmerta half-dragged Hermione behind her as she practically jogged to The Three Broomsticks. "Have you not heard what's been happening? First Madam Puddifoot's windows are broken, and now someone has the gall to break into MY pub!" Waving her wand in front of a window, the woman clicked her tongue as the broken glass melded together again. "I just did inventory two days ago, and now I'll have to see if anything's been taken! And to top it all off, the Ministry has sent Aurors and the like to investigate – as if we can't round up a few trouble-making students on our own!"

Old age hadn't been kind to Rosmerta, and Hermione's smile was weak as she listened to the woman's angry chatter. "Right, well…" She cleared her throat, suddenly very eager to leave Hogsmeade. "I'll just be going then. Papers to grade and all."

One of Hermione's groups of students went running past, and Rosmerta threw a glare their way. "Right. See you later, dear." All of the sweetness and charm that used to drip off of the woman's tongue had apparently dried up years ago. "Ms. Coome's cat has been missing since Tuesday, and Roger swears that he hears things creeping around at night," she continued, despite having dismissed Hermione. With a grunt, she continued rambling and wandered into her business, the door slamming shut behind her.

Hermione was still for a moment, collecting herself. Another group of students passed, and she figured that their hour of innocent wanderings was coming to a close. Patting her pocket to make sure the map was still there, she followed the latest group of students, soon coming to where about half of her class had gathered. They were still idly chatting amongst themselves, so Hermione didn't interrupt.

A few minutes passed, but an uneasy feeling tugged at her gut. She tried to blame it on skipping breakfast that morning, but the nagging feeling only grew stronger. Clenching her jaw, she finally swept the area for anything out of the ordinary and noticed a dark figure hiding in the shadow of a building. She squinted to try and get a better look, but apparently it wasn't keen on her figuring out what it was since it immediately disapparated with a _pop_.

Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that this time, it wasn't Draco lurking in the shadows.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I'm SO sorry for the delay with this! I'd like to say that I'll make it up to you by posting again in a few days, if not tomorrow, but I'd rather not make promises I may not keep. I may end up editing this tomorrow (it's 2AM where I am now) for grammar or minor flow changes, but I'll be posting this now since I've made you all wait so long. If anything is confusing or if the flow is off, please feel free to PM me with your concerns and I'll see if I can edit to help fix any issues you may bring to my attention. Thank you for reading!


	7. Ch 6: Unfortunate Events

**Chapter 6 – Unfortunate Events**

The day after Hermione's strange encounter with Draco Malfoy, another unexpected visitor took root in her life. _Again._

"I heard that you had started corrupting young minds, and it seems I heard correctly. Apparently the rumor mill churns out a bit of truth every so often."

Tensing, Hermione looked up from the paper she was grading. She knew that voice better than most, and she had to force herself to focus on the man's blurred figure before the image was clear. Ronald Weasley had the audacity to stand in the doorway to her office, lean against the door frame as though he had been there a thousand times, scrutinizing her with a rather unbecoming sneer.

"Guess I should have upped my bet with Troust; he's going to be a sorry git once he has to pay up." The man pushed himself upright and sauntered towards his ex-wife. The divorce had been finalized for almost two weeks, but it seemed that old habits died hard. He couldn't resist batting her around like a mouse caught between a bored cat's paws.

Hermione met his gaze, forcing her hands not to shake as he moved closer. There had never been a moment when he couldn't read her. Her eyes were more than windows to her soul; they were unbarred access to it, hosting flashing neon signs reading "look here for all of her secrets!" and all.

"I always knew you wanted children," Ron continued, taking a spare quill from its holder on Hermione's desk. "It's too bad that no man can bear the thought of sleeping with you to knock you up. I'm sure everyone's heard by now what a whore you are, seeing as you let that _wretch_ soil you while you were still married to me. An easy lay, I'm sure they think, but why bother when the woman's more frigid than an iceberg?" Leaning over her desk, Ron lightly ran the tip of the feather across Hermione's exposed arm, his eyes never leaving hers. "In case you still wonder why we hadn't had sex in the final months we were together."

It took everything Hermione had not to jump up and strangle the man. All of her anguish at his words morphed into fury the instant it processed in her numbed brain, and she wanted nothing more than to claw the man's eyes and rip his tongue out. Or better yet, snip off that little something he rarely deigned to use those last few months together.

Ron merely smirked, having hit his mark. He inched the feather up her arm, across her collar bone, up her neck, and rested it on her lips. "But I'm not here to torment you. At least, it's not the main reason for my visit." Flicking the feather against her nose, he straightened. "There's a staff meeting, and I was sent to herd the sheep into the playpen."

Swallowing her anger, Hermione gingerly unclenched her own quill and tried to flatten the crinkles in her student's essay. She hadn't realized she had scrunched it in her free hand when picturing Ron's eyes bulging from his head from her squeezing _his_ neck. "What are you even doing here, Ronald?" she questioned, her tone brisk. "I haven't heard anything about Aurors entering the grounds." Ron's scoffing set her teeth on edge.

"Why the hell do you think there's an impromptu staff meeting?" Ron returned to his previous position in the doorway, crossing his arms and flicking the tip of_ her_ quill with his finger.

Hermione flinched every time the quill _snapped_ from his fondling. Rather than respond, she stood and gathered her things, pointedly ignoring her ex-husband. _I doubt I'll get any more grading done tonight_, she thought with a sigh.

_Crack._

Risking a glance up, she saw her newly-snapped quill in Ronald's grip. From the miffed expression he wore, she doubted it was an accident.

"Try to keep up during the meeting; I'd hate to see you struggle to grasp the situation at hand." With a parting sneer, Ron tossed Hermione's quill over his shoulder as he vacated the room.

Once he was gone, Hermione seemed to cave in on herself. Her shoulders slumped, lips drooped into a frown, and she looked her age for once. She wasn't _old_, just getting _older_. "I'm far too old to let a man trample on my heart, though," Hermione muttered, her brow furrowing.

_Is this what my life is meant to be like? A torment of fluctuating emotions, with none of them being pleasant?_ Sighing yet again, the woman rolled her shoulders and slowly maneuvered to the door, softly clicking it shut behind her. The hallway was empty, save the flickering torchlight, and Hermione was glad. Each step allowed her to piece herself back together, to weave her appearance back into something acceptable. The notion that she was healing had seemed plausible over the past few months, but Ron's startling appearance left an impression that was sure to stay. Maybe she wasn't nearly as healed as she thought. Maybe she hadn't healed at all, merely throwing bandages over her wounds to staunch the bleeding.

Perhaps it was internal bleeding that was killing her, and that's why she had convinced herself she was fine every time she saw her reflection. Her pain – her bumps and bruises – were internal. Wouldn't it be easier to just let his poisonous words seep into her veins and take her away from the world?

_Right, because that kind of attitude would have sufficed during the war._

Cringing at her own thoughts, Hermione bit her cheek and rounded the corner. She was nearing the staff room now, and it took all of the willpower she had to stop chewing on her cheek and stand tall. McGonagall wasn't to see the steps backward Hermione had taken in a few short minutes of being in the same room as her ex.

She was the last person to enter the room, and all eyes turned to her as she took her seat. The room was more crowded than she remembered from their last meeting, and Hermione refused to acknowledge that part of the reason was the red-haired bastard smirking at her from across the table.

Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat to turn all eyes towards her. "I'm sure you're all anxious to hear why you've been called here so suddenly," she began, her gaze sweeping over her faculty. "But I'm afraid that I won't be the one answering your questions. Rather, Mister Kros is here to enlighten you. Please give him your undivided attention; what he has to say is of concern to us all." Stepping aside, the older woman allowed a much younger, more eager man to take her place as head of the table. He grinned wolfishly and clapped his hands together as though this were a pep talk before a Quidditch match.

"It's a pleasure to be here, despite it being under such unfortunate circumstances." Mister Kros, or John, as Hermione knew him, seemed to glow with excitement. Of what, however, had yet to be seen. "I'm the head of the Ministry of Magic's Magical Law Enforcement Department," he stated, tossing Hermione an uncharacteristic wink.

A few eyes turned towards the woman, some accusingly, some curiously. Hermione tried not to glower as her former coworker tried to command the attention of the room once more.

John Kros's smile faltered for a moment as the room went silent. "It has come to the Ministry's attention that there has been a disturbance in Hogsmeade as of late, and we've been called in to investigate."

"Investigate? What is there to investigate, other than an old hag's complaints of her bar being robbed?" Professor Hollingsworth, the younger professor that wasn't too fond of Hermione, questioned.

"I'm glad you asked!" Grinning once more, John Kros motioned to the visitors in the room. "I've brought my best team for the job! Some of them have been scoping out the area already, but due to the unfortunate events of yesterday, we've brought every pair of eyes and ears we could spare." Pausing for effect, John dropped his gleeful expression for something more somber. "I'm afraid," he said slowly, "that a tragedy has fallen upon Hogsmeade."

Hermione watched her coworkers raise their brows and fidget with impatience; the man certainly wasn't meant for speech-making, despite his glorified "performance."

John took a deep breath, his eyes finally showing sorrow for whatever this "tragedy" was. "I'm afraid… There's been a death in Hogsmeade. And not just an ordinary one." His gaze dropped then, and he solemnly clasped his hands together and held them behind his back. "Madame Rosmerta – Rosie, as some of you may know her – was taken from us."

For a moment, Hermione thought she had gone deaf. The complete silence of the room engulfed her, making it harder to breathe. "But I just saw Rosmerta yesterday." Her own voice startled her; she didn't sound like herself. Softer than usual, almost timid.

That caught the attention of the majority of the room. John raised an eyebrow, a sparkle returning to his eye. Minerva's face softened with worry, and Ron practically snarled at her, the accusation clear in his body language.

_He's always had a thing for Rosmerta, even today, it seems. _

"Well, Miss Weas—Granger," John said sharply, placing his palms on the lengthy, wooden table. "There will be time for an interrogation later. I'm sure quite a few of you saw the victim yesterday." He waited another moment before continuing. "Headmistress McGonagall has given us free reign of the castle for the duration of our investigation. My team will be staying in the castle until further notice, so please accommodate the change as much as possible. We hope not to disturb your classes, but our sweep of the castle will be by no means a cursory glance. We are thorough, especially when dark magic is at work."

"Dark magic?" another professor whispered, her eyes widening.

"Yes, the darkest of magics."

Hermione shivered as John's eyes locked onto hers. Empty. His eyes were empty; haunted. None of the previous glee was visible, and he took shaky breaths, as though he was attempting to contain sheer terror. "A Dark Mark was seen above The Three Broomsticks last night, where the victim was found. It seems as though… followers of the old ways are looking to start _his_ work again."

Outrage spilled into the room, the energy in the air as crimson as blood. Shouts began, from both Ministry field agents and Hogwarts staff alike. Hermione didn't hear a word, not really. Her stomach lurched, and she clenched her eyes shut to control her body. _This can't be happening_, she told herself, shaking her head slowly. All of the Death Eaters were either exonerated or thrown into Azkaban; there was no way that a revolt was starting again. It had to merely be a student playing a sick prank.

_A prank that involves murder?_

Hermione sucked in a breath through her clenched teeth, shivering despite herself. Images flashed of the fallen from the war. People known, people unknown, people lost, friends fallen. It was a jumbled film that wouldn't shut off, the faces smiling happily at her one second before freezing. Then the true nightmare began.

First, the eyes shifted, flickering into depths of terror, The smile cracked and chipped away until it was slack, the body now on the ground, the light fading from the eyes. Over and over, the faces played, the chaos in the room continuing.

Intense heat scalded her hands, and Hermione jerked out of her memories. Another set of hands held her own, trying to pry her fingers open. The touch was gentle yet firm, and the warmth slowly faded from threatening to soothing. She kept her eyes on the slender fingers wrapping around her own, barely feeling the sting as her nails were pulled from her palms. Red crescents pooled where her nails had been, but Hermione didn't bother worrying about the minor flesh wounds.

The room was beginning to calm as Minerva's voice hailed over the din. Hermione briefly registered something about keeping calm and not distressing the students or their families before a low timbre beside her claimed her attention.

"It's alright, Hermione." Hot breath fanned out across the side of her neck and cheek, causing the woman to tremble. "We won't let this escalate. You have my word."

A faint scent of peppermint wafted over her and helped soothe her nerves. Slowly, as though not to scare away a frightened animal, Hermione turned her head towards her whisperer, and her breath caught as she saw nothing but an endless expanse of silver. She blinked, forcing her vision to look beyond the silvery depths. "Draco," she breathed, surprise tinkling in her voice.

He was close to her – far too close for anyone she wasn't intimate with. Concern riddled his expression, but he seemed more amused than anything. "Hermione," he replied softly, rubbing the woman's knuckles with his thumb.

Hermione's lips were parted slightly; something she hoped didn't make her seem stupefied. She snapped her mouth closed and tugged her hands from his grasp, spark of defiance igniting inside her. "What do you think—"

A growl from across the table cut her off.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here, Malfoy?" Ron hissed, standing so quickly that his chair smacked into the wall behind him. It was clear that his coworkers had seen this kind of response before since they rushed to Ron's sides and locked him in some kind of hold, one person at each of his sides.

Again, Ron reminded Hermione of a cat about to pounce. Or maybe a lion this time.

Draco stood from his crouched position beside Hermione and raised a blonde eyebrow at the enraged Weasley. "Simply comforting a troubled woman, something I'm sure you would know nothing about."

"You know what I'm talking about, Malfoy!" Ron snapped his snarl on his boss, John Kros. "Why is _he_ on this case?! He's the number one suspect as a Death Eater!"

Hermione was sure that his rage was for more than Draco's connection to the Dark Arts, but she didn't dare ponder the notion for longer than a second.

Mister Kros's steely expression was enough to freeze the blood flowing through Hermione's veins. There was a reason he was made Head of the Department, after all.

"Mister Weasley," he said slowly, sharply tilting his head. The resounding _crack_ from his neck popping almost echoed in the newfound silence. "You should know better than to throw blind accusations at people, especially if that person is a coworker of yours." He paused. "Now, _sit down_."

Ron fought free from his captors and hesitated, his nostrils flared, clearly defiant, before practically slamming down into his seat. Hermione was sure that she heard the wood crack from the force of Ron's body.

John's expression softened, and he loosened his navy tie. "I apologize for any high-running emotions or adrenaline, but the issue still stands. There is a danger, a threat, to everyone in this castle." Emerald eyes smoldering, he locked eyes with each and every person in the room, one by one. "We must work together to seize this threat and crush it in our bare hands."

Minerva stepped beside John then, her face as grave as his. "Unfortunately, that's all the time we have today. Mister Kros will inform each of you about various accommodations and… requests he wishes from you." With a nod, she dismissed her faculty. "The Ministry's workers will be staying in the teacher's wing with you all, so try not to step on each other's toes."

Ron was the first to bolt out of the room, leaving a trail of uncontained emotion in his wake. Hermione took a deep breath and stood, scanning the heads in the room for the one person she had questions for, in vain. Draco Malfoy had disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

I know, I know… I'm not the best at updating. But hey, better late than never? I'm not going to promise that the next chapters will magically be published in a timely manner, but I'm feeling the writing itch, so maybe it'll come along a little smoother. I'm planning on writing another fic (or begin writing a novel, if I can convince myself to start one) in the semi-near future while my muse is still around, and this one will most likely be a Rumbelle AU-ish fic from Once Upon a Time. If any of you are interested in being BETA readers, please let me know!

On another note, I'm curious… Do you see a connection in any of the events so far? –wiggles eyebrows- PM me what you think, and maybe I'll hint at the underlining connection in the next chapter! Happy reading!

**Note Part 2:**

I received a critical review and would like to address it; am I perhaps TOO vague with what is going on? My writing style typically allows me to piece things together over the course of time (generally this works well with roleplays, mixing action and slowly gaining more of a feel for the character as more is revealed), but perhaps that is not the best approach for fanfiction? I know that I can't please everyone, but I don't wish to simply dismiss this reader's words. I may seek more input from a help forum on the site. Hmm. Anywhoo, please PM me if you have any input of your own! With this being my first fic, I'm feeling things out as I go; it's as much a journey for me as it is for you as a reader.


	8. Ch 7: The Game Begins

**Chapter 7 – The Game Begins**

Arching her back, Hermione felt her joints pop and gave a breath of relief. She had been powering through her seventh years' essays for the past four hours, and she was finally ready to call it a night. Thankfully, hardly anyone was awake at such a late hour, and she walked freely through the dimly lit corridors. No need to worry about students hailing her down to ask for an extension on an assignment or professors inviting her to a scholarly lunch date to discuss the latest research developments in their field (fascinating, yes, but not the most pressing matters at hand currently) or feeling the stares of Aurors watching her every move. The castle was quiet; dormant, almost.

The halls were more comforting than they had been weeks past, the familiar stones tugging comfort out of her. She faced her demons head on, never avoiding areas of the castle that held haunted memories. The faces of the fallen were a treasure to her; she constantly paused and interrupted the flow of traffic in the hallways when a memory struck, and she held onto those moments as though they were tendrils of the fallen souls. She didn't see their anguish – the pain, uncertainty, or fear in their final moments. Instead, she saw their _lives_, and every time she glimpsed these lives, she felt warmth. Peace.

She was no longer haunted by the war.

At least, unless you counted harsh, unexpected reminders of the war's tragedies, like Madame Rosmerta's untimely death and the circumstances surrounding it. Whenever such events happened – not often, thankfully – Hermione was always caught off guard. Unlike the meeting the other day, however, she knew where her ghosts lay in the castle and expected them. The castle's tragedies were the ones that she had grown accustomed.

It had been a gradual change, of course, and her students helped her look past the sorrow to find joy. They all reminded her of her own school days and the friends she made, experiences she had. In them, Hermione saw hope. Happiness. Love.

Smiling to herself, Hermione barely noticed the dancing shadows in front of her. She gave pause, assuming it was another memory fighting to the surface, only to find that none came. Puzzled, she hovered near a statue, squinting to try and see better in the darkness. When that failed, she grew frustrated, her tired brain and weary body screaming for a restful sleep. With a huff, she shuffled closer and resisted the urge to pull out her wand. _As if I have reason to be paranoid…_

But there _was_ a murder case that had yet to be resolved.

Before Hermione could reach into her robes and grasp the familiar wood, however, something roughly grabbed her waistline and pulled her into the shadow of the statue. "Wh—"

A hand clamped over her mouth before Hermione could so much as squeak, and the woman was about to instinctively bite down on the assailant's fingers when a very distinct smell washed over her.

_Peppermint._

Rather than bite her captor, she elbowed him in the side. That only made his arms tighten around her, and it took all she had not to stomp on his feet. _What the hell is he playing at?!_ Her earlier frustration doubled as her body recognized another obstacle in the way of slumber. If she weren't cast in shadow, her glare would have been murderous.

"Stay quiet," a voice grumbled in her ear. "And stop fidgeting, will you? He'll run if he senses you."

Once Hermione stilled, the man released her, his deep chuckle sending shivers up her spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it, Granger?"

"What the hell are you _doing_, Draco? It's the middle of the night! Why are you slinking around in the dark?"

Draco seemed more amused than anything. "Well, well, looks like someone is in need of a cat nap." His gaze flickered from Hermione to the space ahead of them, and he spat out a muffled curse at what he saw. Or rather, what he _didn't_ see. "The game begins," he murmured, stepping into the light. He didn't wait for Hermione to follow before quick-stepping after whomever he was stalking.

It was a split-second decision that Hermione made, and while her aching eyes heavily protested, her curiosity won the battle as she swiftly caught up to Draco and walked in-step with him. He barely paid her any mind, and she had to fight the prickle of annoyance that crept under her skin. _It's not like he _invited_ you along_, she consoled herself, almost crashing into him as he came to an abrupt halt.

They had reached the moonlit courtyard, and Hermione scanned the area for flickers of movement. It seemed that Draco had done the same, only faster, and upon not noticing anything out of the ordinary, he strode into the night like a predator closing in on its prey.

Hermione paused at the stone archway connecting the castle to the courtyard and pursed her lips, unsure if she _really_ wanted to rendezvous with a semi-stranger well past the stroke of midnight.

Draco turned and caught her eye then, holding her gaze for the briefest of moments before nonchalantly sliding his hands into his pockets, as though he had all the time in the world to wait for her decision.

Indignantly, Hermione raised her chin and marched forwards, refusing to let the crinkle of Draco's smirk deter her. If he wanted to challenge her sense of adventure, see if any of the youthful Hermione remained in her bones, then fine. She strode past him and across the cobbled courtyard with a fierce determination to set the record straight. Hermione Granger was _not_ a frail creature hiding behind a desk, and it was about damned time the world – and more specifically, those poisoned with Ron's discontented rumors – remembered.

Once they reached the outskirts of the castle, they could clearly see a figure moving swiftly across the grounds. Her interest piqued, Hermione took a few steps forward before Draco held an arm out in front of her, giving her pause, and nodded in the direction the person was traveling.

The Whomping Willow.

Draco chose a more discreet path than the one their _friend_ had taken and led Hermione through the grass and underbrush towards the towering tree. As they approached, Hermione could see its branches swaying menacingly, looking more like a phantom's conjured final defense rather than an age-old tree that enjoyed squashing anything that dared encroach on its territory.

The closer the pair came, the louder the tree's creaking branches became. A few heavy swats to the ground made the earth shake beneath Hermione's feet, and she sucked in a breath at a memory of crossing the tree during her third year as a student at Hogwarts. _So long ago_, she thought, the hairs on her arms rising. _And under very different circumstances. _

Draco didn't hesitate as he approached the wiggling tree, and Hermione feared that the man's drive made him reckless. "Draco!" she hissed, reaching out to pull him back out of the willow's range. Draco was quick, however, and easily skirted out of her grasp, flashing her a boyish grin over his shoulder. "C'mon, Hermione! Don't tell me you'll let a tree best you!" He dashed to the center of the trunk, leaping over a branch as it swiped at him, and deftly rolled to a stop right before the base of the tree. He tapped a knot in the trunk and stretched his arms over his head as though that were a warm-up routine.

Hermione covered the surprise etched on her face with a loud scoff, walking towards the tree warily. It had moved in slow-motion for a few seconds before coming to a complete stop, towering over her. "You're simply too gung-ho about this whole trip. If I didn't know better, I'd say that field work has gotten too boring for your tastes." Hermione paused as she reached Draco. "Exactly who is it we're after? I doubt you'd be chasing a student out after curfew," she snipped, crossing her arms.

The man's face fell then, and his excitement that had quickly bubbled to the surface faded into something Hermione couldn't place. He ran a hand through his ghostly-blonde hair, the moonlight giving him a more muted complexion than usual, and refused to meet her gaze. "Let's keep moving," he spoke softly, shuffling towards the secret passage on the other side of the tree.

Frowning, Hermione made a note to push the topic later. Besides, she may find out who they're following once they catch the person. The fact that Draco didn't wish to admit to her whom it was – _perhaps he doesn't know who it is?_ – unsettled her. _Or maybe it was my assumption of him that isn't to his liking?_

The walk through the musky tunnel was silent, save for their footfalls. The air was thick, and the dirt clinging to the walls was surely going to end up in Hermione's hair; she just _knew _it.

The tension broke as they entered the Shrieking Shack, and she raked in a deep breath as though surfacing from the depths of the Black Lake after a lifetime of treading water. If Draco noticed her relief, he didn't let on.

The shack had wrinkled and sagged like a wizened man over the years, looking ancient despite only being a few decades old. Dust coated everything in sight, and the half-moon filtering through the cracks and holes in the building's structure made every surface it touched glow. The largest hole in the wall was about the size of a Quaffle and gave way to a perfect view of Hogsmeade nestled in the surrounding forest. Lights twinkled in the distance, and Hermione found herself pressing against the splintered wall to get a better look.

The wood groaned under her weight, and before Hermione realized what was happening, the sound of snapping boards engulfed her as she began tipping forwards. Within milliseconds, she was coated in dust, scrapes and wood splinters, and she held her breath for the inevitable freefall that was to come. The crash of the fallen wall hitting the ground was distant, and Hermione was surprised to be falling backwards rather than forwards. She flailed, trying to grasp onto something – anything – that would keep her from sliding off the dilapidated floors and tumbling down the steep drop to the spikes waiting below. Somehow she connected with something firm and managed to fling herself from the unstable area of the room, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

For a moment, it took all Hermione had to _breathe_. She hadn't expected anything to happen; her guard was down, and it had been so long since she had to think about any kind of danger, it seemed almost foreign to her. It was like she was a beginner again, back in her schooling days. If it weren't for the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she would be furious with herself. As it was, however, her fury was delayed.

She calmed her breathing and allowed her brain to connect with her senses. She was incredibly warm somehow, despite the chill in the air, and although the fall was rough enough to warrant bruising, she felt little in the way of aches. What she did feel was something shifting beneath her, and her caramel eyes widened as she remembered something important.

She wasn't alone.

Hermione scrambled into a sitting position and jumped from a groan sounding _very_ close by. Her eyes caught on Draco's fallen figure, partly covered by her ass on his thighs. She squeaked and scooted off of him, but as soon as she registered crimson dripping down the side of his face, she found herself sitting on her knees leaning over him to see the wound better. "You're injured," she breathed, gently titling his head away from her so the light would hit his injury better.

Draco was leaning up on his elbows, his white button-up shirt now smeared with dirt from the fall. A few wood chips were sprinkled in his hair and body, and he seemed oddly calm, given the circumstances.

Clicking her tongue, Hermione gently prodded the gash with her fingers before pursing her lips. "It's not too deep, but I'd rather we disinfect it before closing it with magic, and I didn't bring any ointments with me..." She brushed her fingers through Draco's hair to try and clear some of the drying blood from it, and she could have sworn that Draco's eyes had _fluttered_ closed. She stopped her hand mid-stroke and bit her lip, letting her hand fall to her lap.

Draco's eyes snapped open and he turned his head towards Hermione. The woman's breath caught as a flicker of disappointment and something else she couldn't quite place flashed in his eyes. It was gone before she could process it, and Draco pushed himself to his feet. "Try to be more careful of your surroundings next time," he softly scolded, holding his hand out for Hermione to take.

She accepted his hand and hoisted herself up, offering a small smile in thanks. Draco's attention had already shifted, so her thanks went unseen. He slipped his hand from hers and took a few steps towards the missing wall, his entire focus aimed at whatever lingered outside.

"Draco," Hermione started, placing a hand on his arm. "I don't think the person is here or we would have seen—"

"They're out _there_," he muttered, gesturing to the whispering forest outside.

Blinking, Hermione tried to hide her surprise. "And they got past us? We weren't that far behind them."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he glanced at his companion. "I'm sure that commotion was enough for a_ giant_ to slip past unseen."

Hermione bristled but kept silent. He was right, she knew, but that didn't mean she had to verbally acknowledge the fact. Crossing her arms, she waited for Draco to speak. The gears were turning in his head, and she found her lips twitching in a half-smile when she heard him humming to himself.

"We need to get down there, and our best bet is to jump." Nodding as though pleased with himself, he turned to Hermione and smiled.

She couldn't help but notice that it didn't reach his eyes.

Holding out his hand, Draco motioned for Hermione to step closer. "I need you to hold onto me in order for the spell to work efficiently." He smiled again, and this time his eyes sparkled. "Unless you'd rather stay here and bring the whole building down."

He was _teasing_ her. _Again!_

"As much as I'm sure you'd _love_ to be rid of me, you're out of luck. In case this _is_ a student breaking the rules, I need to be present. I doubt a Ministry official knows how to handle a student quite as well as that student's professor." Hermione took Draco's hand and tensed as he pulled her body flush against his, firmly wrapping his arm around her.

Draco chuckled, and Hermione could feel his chest rumble against her neck. The man had certainly grown taller over the years.

"Relax," he breathed, reaching into his pocket with the hand not melding their bodies together and pulled out his hand. With a flourish of his wrist, he muttered a brief incantation and a gust of wind spiraled around them.

Hermione's eyes widened as her robes billowed around her and her hair whipped at her face. She found herself clinging to Draco as she felt her feet leave the ground, and she even wrapped her legs around his calves, her arms holding a death hold around his neck. Flying was _never_ her choice method of transportation, especially if it was from a spell she wasn't previously aware of.

The man merely wrapped his wand arm around her waist and moved his unoccupied arm across her back, the palm of his hand snaking its way into her soft curls. Hermione tried to take comfort in the strong hold he had on her, but she could only focus on waiting for the ground to be back under her feet.

They were gently lifted from the floorboards and hovered down the three-story drop, going slow enough that the sensation could be pleasant, but not nearly fast enough for Hermione. The wind licked her exposed skin, seeping into her clothes to taste the flesh there as well. It was far too close to winter to be flying, especially if it was the middle of the night.

It was over quickly, but Hermione felt as though she were still in the air, awaiting the certain plummet to her doom. She knew that Quidditch players often faced nasty falls, but there was a reason Hermione had never donned Quidditch gear and earned glory for her house.

Flying was _unnatural. _It defied the basic principles of being human; other creatures were born with wings. Humans? They had yet to sprout feathers and take to the skies, and Hermione was perfectly content staying out of the clouds. If whatever powers that be didn't intend for her to fly, she damned well wasn't going to test the waters and see if she could when it clearly wasn't written in the stars for her.

Some people, like Harry and Draco, seemed at ease in the air. All of their inhibitions floated away on the winds, and they were _free_.

Hermione could fly when the situation called for it, but she liked to keep her feet well-planted on the ground if she could help it.

The seconds ticked by as Draco waited for Hermione to release him. He had already loosened his hold on her, but he was gently smoothing the back of her hair in attempts to calm her. She was shaking, and he wasn't actually sure if she was aware of it or not.

After a few minutes, he felt her muscles relax and she slowly pulled away from him, sliding down until her feet hit the ground. She peered up at hi, her lips slightly parted as though she were waking from a dream.

It took all the restraint Draco had not to capture those plump lips in his.

She blinked and her gaze focused, her eyes widening as she realized the proximity between them. She disentangled herself from Draco and was intent on looking anywhere except at him, running her fingers through her mussed hair and patting down her pencil skirt as though it weren't flat enough as it was. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, heat rushing to her cheeks. "I just—um—I'm not exactly the best flyer."

Draco gave a half-smile and shrugged in a noncommittal way. "I gathered that." He could have easily quipped about her reaction – said something sarcastic – tried to lighten the mood somehow. He didn't want to dwell on her discomfort, though, so he cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of the town. "Ladies first."

Hermione gratefully obliged, practically jogging ahead of him. They didn't speak, and Hermione felt that was worse than if they had awkward conversation. She briefly mused asking about what happened at the staff meeting – she hadn't seen much of him over the past few days, and she had never been _alone_ with him – but she quickly dismissed the thought as her cheeks burned hotter. _Later_, she told herself. _I'll ask him later. Much, much later._

The town came into sight after a short walk, but Hermione's adrenaline had faded and she was running on sheer willpower. Her body's aches from earlier came back tenfold, and she was dragging her feet in the most unbecoming way. _I should just walk back up to the castle_, she told herself, moaning softly as she rolled her shoulders backwards. _I really need a nice, long, hot soak in the baths…_ She shivered and pulled her robes tighter around her. The temperature kept dropping, she was sure of it. _Winter is approaching. I should invest in some thicker socks. Maybe a new pair of earmuffs and some mittens, too. Oh, and if they matched!_

Hermione's ears perked up as she heard a door creak behind her, and she swiveled around to see Draco sneaking into The Three Broomsticks. "Draco!" she hissed, scurrying over to him as quietly as she could. "What are you doing?! There are wards against people going in there! It's a _crime scene_!"

Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, tugging her inside before softly clicking the door shut behind her. "Who the hell do you think I am? _Not_ a Ministry investigator?" He scoffed and crossed his arms. "Who do you think helped arm the place? Weaselbee?"An unkind sneer rippled across his face, and Hermione felt shards of ice rip through her chest. Draco continued, "He couldn't cast a simple protection spell if his life depended on it." He had turned away from Hermione, lit the tip of his wand, and began scanning the room for anything out of place or suspicious.

Raking in a breath, Hermione dismissed Draco's words as best she could. She knew Ron wasn't the best spellcaster, but that didn't give Draco the right to belittle him. Ron had come a long way since the war, and Hermione used to help him with his spells late at night. She remembered many a time when he'd been so enthused by his progress that he swept her away in throes of passion, back in the beginnings of their marriage.

The ice inside Hermione spread like daggers, and she pressed her palm against the wall for support. She took shaky breaths until her mind cleared and pulled her wand out of its pocket. "Lumos," she whispered, squinting from the bright light igniting from her wand.

The Three Broomsticks looked the exact same as when Hermione last stood in the homey pub, minus the flow of customers. Not a single thing looked out of place, and Hermione quickly lost interest in combing the room for clues. She wanted to bring Rosmerta's killer to justice, of course, and she always loved a good mystery novel, but everything was a bit _too_ real. This wasn't just a story – this was a _life_. A life taken. A life she had known for years. A _person_ lost forever.

"What are we doing here?" she questioned softly, her gaze flickering to Draco. He was bent over a spot on the floor, brushing his fingertips over something Hermione couldn't see. Without looking her way, he responded, "I was hoping the killer would return to the scene of the crime." Standing, he moved towards the stairs leading to the second floor of the building. "Although it doesn't seem our little runner has been here tonight. Doesn't mean we shouldn't check the place out; see if we can find something the others missed." He pointed his wand at the stairs and swung his arm up, casting a light ball into the room above. He was headed up the stairs before Hermione could question him further.

Shivering, Hermione scuttled towards the window by the stairwell and peered into the night. Everything seemed so serene outside; it hardly looked like a town in distress. The soft light from the moon cascaded across the rooftops and could deceive people into thinking it was snow if they merely glanced.

A flash of light caught her eye, and Hermione pressed her face against the glass (quite the bad habit she was growing into, it seemed) and her breath hitched.

Green light, snaking up from a nearby rooftop, like poison smoke billowing into the air, paralyzed Hermione. She watched in horror as the smoke's outline focused into a skull, a snake winding its way from its open mouth.

Heavy footfalls to Hermione's right made the woman jump, and she turned just in time to see Draco come barreling down the stairs. He seemed so intent on moving that he nearly slammed into Hermione, but he swerved around her at the last possible second and bolted out the back door of the pub, his feet pounding through the streets as he raced towards the mark in the sky.

"D-Draco!" Hermione shrieked, bolting out the door after him. She couldn't let him go there alone; what if the killer was still there? What if he rushed into serious danger? _What if he died?_

Hermione's legs screamed in protest as she forced them to move, to run faster, to catch up to Draco, to make sure he wasn't cornered or hurt or _worse_. She was panting by the time she had fallen into a good pace, her legs finally growing accustomed to the movement, and she skidded to a halt just outside the house's tiny garden gate. She saw Draco's crop of blonde hair moving determinedly to the front door of the little house before her, and Hermione had to force herself to breathe for the hundredth time that night.

The Dark Mark loomed over her, taunting her, teasing her, telling her to run, to scream, to cower in fear and never leave the safety of her bed again. But she knew better than that; she had _lived_ better than that.

Hermione Granger was no coward. She was a fighter, a lover, and the brightest witch of her age. A little smoke wasn't going to turn her away. Not today, not ever.

A fierce gleam entered her eye as she stalked after Draco, catching up to him in the blink of an eye. He hesitated when he felt her presence behind him, and she saw the concern pooling in his eyes when he glanced her way. He didn't stop her, though, so she followed him into the house.

It was pitch black, and they didn't dare light their wands when the killer could have been two feet from them, waiting for a reason to strike. Hermione breathed softly, comforted by the faint hint of peppermint in the air. Draco was close, and she felt reassured when his arm brushed hers. Neither of them was alone, and her gut told her that he was just as glad as she was about that.

The light pouring in from outside reminded Hermione of the Muggle alien movies where green light filtered outside of places with supernatural activity, except this time the light was filtering _in_. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Hermione could have sworn that she saw movement across the room. She felt Draco tense more than she saw him do so, and it was clear that he had seen it, too.

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest as she lifted her wand, a dozen defensive spells waiting on her lips. Draco stopped, and Hermione stood beside him. Both were facing the area where the movement had come from, and both seemed to freeze in their tracks. Something wasn't right. Why would the killer still be in the building? Wouldn't they run as soon as the curse was cast? What if they were waiting for something?

_But what?_

The frozen hourglass tipped as the screech of a spell and a blinding flash of red light caught the pair off guard, and Hermione's spells died in her mouth.

Standing before them was a face neither of them could ever forget; a face they should never have had to see again except in the blackest of nightmares when the dreamer awoke only to realize they were in a deeper level of the nightmare, one where the terror was real.

Something in Draco seemed to snap, and he crumbled to the ground on his knees, his gasping breath jerking Hermione into action. The assailant had vanished, and Hermione forced herself to believe that they weren't coming back, not tonight.

She rushed to Draco's side and lay him down, fumbling with a light spell. After her third cast, it stuck and the room was illuminated with soft white rather than the hazy, sickly green. She saw a thick blossom of crimson bursting from Draco's torso, and she choked on what little oxygen she could grasp. The look in his molten silver eyes was hollow; empty.

Hermione's voice cracked as she swept over Draco, her hands moving to hover over his chest. She spoke an incantation and her hands quivered, but she couldn't look at the red staining his skin, couldn't fathom the stillness of his body, couldn't believe the lost look in his eyes.

"Goddammit, Draco!" she spat, the chill in her bones forcing her body to go numb. "You can't do this! You can't just leave me here to face this alone! I won't forgive you; I won't _let_ you!" Her wand glowed brighter, the light morphing from a sky blue to a deep navy as the glow loosely spiraled out in tendrils that broke off and floated down to kiss Draco's skin. Hermione felt tears well in her eyes, but she refused to shut them. She wouldn't close out her feelings – the panic and despair. She wouldn't block out Draco, not when she might be the last living thing his life touched.

Her spell faded until only the light from her _Lumos Maxima_ remained, a tiny light hovering at the center of the room. Hermione took shallow breaths, bunching her skirt in her fists. It couldn't end like this – it couldn't _happen_ like this – everything was so wrong, _so wrong_ –

Draco finally blinked and he took a guttural breath, his chest heaving from the effort. His shirt was stained a deep red and his complexion was ghastly, but his eyes were the first thing to really awaken. He managed to shakily rise onto his elbows, his breaths now shallow, and he winced from a deep pain racking his body. He didn't seem to notice his soiled shirt, or maybe he decided not to care. It was strange to Hermione when he traded looking at his wound (that Hermione wasn't even sure she had healed, honestly, since she has been acting on pure instinct and adrenaline) for something a lot more _human._

He embraced her.

Gingerly, he reached out and took Hermione's hand in his and tugged her towards him. She hadn't been expecting the action, nor was she really well-equipped to steady herself at the moment, so she practically tackled the man. He sat up fully and held Hermione, but it was different than when he held onto her at the Shrieking Shack or when he had kept her still in the hall at Hogwarts. He held get tenderly, as though she were just as fragile as he was, and Hermione folded into his arms. Were he not injured, Hermione got the impression that he would have gently rocked her and smoothed her hair.

Nevertheless, it wasn't something he did simply to soothe her. She could _feel_ it. He needed this – whatever _this_ was – just as much as she did, if not more so. She was rattled beyond belief, but he was trembling. Hermione grasped at his shoulders, burying her face in his neck, devouring the calming peppermint scent that seemed to be his trademark. She took deep breaths, and his short ones soon matched her own, and the two breathed as one.

They sat in silence, their state too fragile for words.

It was an eternity before someone arrived.

Hermione recognized the face of one of the Aurors currently invading the castle, but after he checked that Hermione and Draco weren't in peril danger, he and two others searched the building. The body of the victim was found, and soon the entire area was roped off as a crime scene.

Hermione wasn't sure when she had stood, nor when Draco and she had stumbled out into the breaking sunlight. All she knew was the face searing into her mind, and when her eyes met Draco's, he looked as haunted as she. They stared at one another, both seeing the world awaken around them and unseeing everything as an image pierced their minds, breaking the composure they had worked to build over the past ten years after the war.

She was back. Hermione didn't know how it was possible, nor did she care at that exact moment.

The manic face that had played puppet master in her dreams had breached the wall and crawled into reality. Her reality. _Their _reality.

Draco and Hermione shared a dark look, and they knew that the game had just begun. The chessboard had been set, and the players were being revealed.

Piece number one on the opponent's board?

_Bellatrix LeStrange._

**Author's Note:**

Hey, guys! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I ended it a bit differently than I intended, but that's okay! I can start the next chapter right where I left off ;) As always, in case anything is unclear, please message me and I'll try to clarify what I can without revealing too much! Thank you so much for reading!


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